


My True Love Gave to Me

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas fic, During Series, F/M, Fluff, Kidfic, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Smut, the Whole Nine Yards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: Red. She so rarely wears red that she isn't quite sure why she chose it for tonight. It's not because it's Christmas, she'd like to think she's at least a little less predictable than that, and anyway, it isn't a Christmas red, as such. It's a warmer, deeper red, like a really good Merlot. Burgundy? Maroon? Whatever the hell colour it is, she bought it because it called to her the second she laid eyes on it, and Will's reaction when she opens the door tells her she made the right choice.





	1. 2005: Nine Ladies Dancing

Red. She so rarely wears red that she isn't quite sure why she chose it for tonight. It's not because it's Christmas, she'd like to think she's at least a little less predictable than that, and anyway, it isn't a Christmas red, as such. It's a warmer, deeper red, like a really good Merlot. Burgundy? Maroon? Whatever the hell colour it is, she bought it because it called to her the second she laid eyes on it, and Will's reaction when she opens the door tells her she made the right choice.

Holy Mary of Nazareth (it's the season, it seems like a fitting expression), he looks handsome. Tuxedo, black bow tie, his shoes practically gleaming, and a half-smile on his face that makes her want to drag him inside and suggest they skip the damn ball. Well, almost...she's the one who talked him into this, the one who pouted when he resisted initially, who told him she couldn't believe they'd been together all these months and had never been anywhere formal, somewhere with dancing, so no, wild horses couldn't stop her tonight.

They've been dating for eight months, and three months ago she told him she loved him, something she's repeated daily ever since. He told her he'd been in love with her since their third date, but hadn't wanted to terrify her by tipping his hand so early in the game. God, if he had though, maybe the first time Brian called she would have told him to go to hell...she refuses to get on that train of thought because it really doesn't matter now. It was barely a handful of times over a few months, always when he caught her at a bad moment, when she was busy, when it was late, and she somehow managed to kid herself that she was in control of it, that she was using Will to make Brian regret dumping her, and that she was fine with that. What it ultimately did was provide her with a comparison which magnified Brian's many bad points and illuminated Will's countless good ones until it was no longer about jealousy, or revenge, and there was no longer any decision to be made. It was Will, and it's always going to be Will.

He leans in and kisses her cheek, thankfully breaking into her thoughts, his lips cold but soft against her skin, and she closes her eyes as she revels in his touch. She slides her hand inside his jacket and pulls him into her apartment, backing up until she reaches the kitchen doorway, glancing up and watching as his eyes follow, a smirk crossing his face when he spots the mistletoe.

"What?" She shrugs and matches her smirk with his. "It's Christmas."

He's smart enough not to argue, instead taking advantage of her carefully placed decorations and pushing his hands gently into her hair, the stubbornly straight hair she spent so long curling that she probably should care more than she does right now about the damage his hands could do to it. His thumbs rest on her cheekbones and she sighs against him as he kisses her, slowly opening her eyes as he pulls away.

"You look nice," he says, his gaze flicking from her face down to her dress and back again. "Beautiful, you look _beautiful_."

"Thank you." She grins at him and reaches up to straighten his bow tie. "You look so handsome in a tux, honey. We should go somewhere fancy every weekend."

"If it means you putting on a dress like that then sure, I'm all for it." He smiles as she squeezes his hand and steps into the kitchen to pick up her purse.

"I'll remember you said that, you know." She moves into the hallway, standing in front of the mirror to put on her lipstick, aware of him moving behind her to watch as she does. "Alright, let's go."

*

They haven't been keeping it a secret that they're together, but they definitely haven't been shouting about it, and that's mostly down to her. She knows she's good at her job, that every move she's made in her career has been on her own merit, buts she also knows that's not how everyone will see it, and she can predict the inevitable judgement from people who _won't_ see it that way, those who will see her dating Will and think it's a career move. Well, the CNN Christmas party seems like as good a place as any to make sure it's no longer a secret. She wanted to wear a nice dress, she wanted to see him in a tux, and hell, she wants to dance with him more than anything, and the realisation dawns that she doesn't actually care what people think.

They're seated with people they know a little, but nobody they work directly with, which she guesses is a deliberate seating plan ploy to facilitate conversation even though it mostly just leads to small talk and slightly awkward silences. Forced mingling is what Will calls it, and even though she tolerates it better than he does, she can't deny he's right. It does mean that as soon as dinner is over she shouldn't have any trouble dragging him away from the table and onto the dance floor, so there's a hidden bonus in that. The seemingly endless wait between courses is filled with seemingly endless wine, which she can feel rushing to her head far more quickly than it would if it were actually accompanied by food. Making the decision to slow down (albeit probably too late), she puts her glass down on the table and slides her hand onto Will's thigh, smiling at him when he turns to her.

"You okay?" he asks, a concerned frown on his face, his hand moving to cover hers.

"Fine, I just...well, I should slow down on the wine until I actually eat something, I think." She shrugs and his frown lifts, replaced by a sweet smile that sends a sparkle to his eyes and a flush to her cheeks. "I want to be able to dance with you without falling down."

"I'd never let you fall down," he says quietly, his fingers threading slowly through hers and squeezing softly, not letting go until their food arrives in front of them.

It's a really good meal but she's had so much wine by that point it could be the world's shittiest burger and she'd devour it like a rare fillet. She switches to water and glances at Will, silently cursing his ability to drink as much if not more than her yet still look as fresh as the moment they arrived. Then she remembers it's most likely because he's a big guy, which is one of the many things she loves about him, so she smiles and takes a mouthful of water as he sticks to wine. It looks like the colleague to her left is about to say something so she smiles and turns quickly away to face Will again.

"I've made as much conversation about the fucking weather as I possibly can," she says, leaning close to him and sighing. "Dance with me, honey, please."

The combination of her pleading tone and her fluttering eyelashes seems to work and he stands up, holds out his hand and leads her to the dance floor. His hand moves to her back, pulling her against him, his fingers drifting lower to rest against her skin. Tangling her fingers in his, she pushes herself closer, sliding her other hand onto his shoulder, smiling up at him, her smile widening as she hears the music change.

"This is my favourite Christmas song," she says, as the familiar strains of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas start to drift across the room.

"It is, huh? Good to know." He returns her smile and turns her slowly around, his cheek coming to rest against hers.

"You should also know that I love Christmas," she murmurs against his skin, smiling again (God, she smiles a lot with him). "I _really_ love it."

"I kind of figured," he says, his fingers roaming across her back, tickling lightly.

She feels him shift slightly and then she hears it, his voice singing softly into her ear, the warmth in his tone sending a heat to her stomach and bringing a sigh to her lips. She loves that he can sing, she remembers the first time he played guitar and sung to her, shrugging as he told her he was a musician in another life, grinning when she told him she wanted him to sing to her forever. The song ends and she smiles as he runs his lips tenderly across her cheekbone.

"I hope any kids of ours get your singing voice." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, even though she bites her lip as if she can. "I mean-"

"As long as they get your smile..." He pulls back slightly and smiles at her, flattening his hand, his skin warm against her lower back. "I'm fine with whatever else they end up with."

"This is actually a pretty nice party," she says, after they spend the next few minutes in silence, swaying gently together, and she watches the doubt cross his face. She knows this really isn't his kind of thing and she loves that he's only here because she wanted them to get dressed up, and because she _really_ wanted to dance with him. "You're happy to stay to the end, right?"

"I, um, seriously?" He raises his eyebrows and she can't keep her straight face a second longer, giggling at him trying to hide his horror.

"God, no." She grins up at him and shakes her head. "I say we dance to one more song and then get the fuck out of here."

In the back of the car she leans her head against his shoulder, sighing happily as he rests his hand on her knee, squeezing lightly. She's struggling to believe that last Christmas she was desperately trying to hang on to a relationship that was long over, one that she knows now was never a real relationship at all. She wasted so many years of her life with Brian, and then stupidly went running back when he called...God, she hates herself all over again when she thinks about those few months.

"Have you always loved Christmas?" His voice pulls her back from her spiralling thoughts and she's reminded once again that she has Will now, that Brian is history, that she's happier than she's ever been, and she thinks he is too. "Hon?"

"Sorry, I was...yeah, Christmas." She covers his hand with hers, still surprised by how much she loves to hold his hand, never having been a hand holder before she met him. "When I was little, my dad worked away a lot, obviously, but he always made sure he was home for Christmas. I mean, once or twice there was an inconveniently timed diplomatic crisis, but mostly Christmas was different, we were all together, and my mum was so good at making sure it was happy. God, that sounds so over the top, doesn't it? I know, I-"

"No, not at all," he says, stopping her, raising their joined hands and kissing his way slowly across her knuckles. "I love that you're so genuinely into Christmas, it's fucking adorable, and I bet your mom is like the queen of the holidays, right?"

"Pretty much." She nods and turns to smile at him. "You do know you'll be subjected to a full McHale Christmas at some point, don't you?"

"Counting on it." He leans in and kisses her, and he tastes of wine and chocolate, and it's somehow the perfect combination. "I like your parents a lot, Mac."

"I'm glad, because they _love_ you." Pausing, she kisses him again, craving his taste once more. "Seriously, Will, my mum almost ran out of happy adjectives when she was talking about you, and my mother is never lost for words of any kind."

"Totally unlike her eldest daughter, who is so quiet that I sometimes forget she's in the room." He smirks at her and she sticks out her tongue at his teasing tone, just as the car comes to a stop outside her apartment. "You won't miss seeing your parents at Christmas?"

"Not this year." She reaches for her purse and smiles slightly shyly at him as he opens the car door. "Because I have you, Billy, in case that wasn't clear."

"It was clear," he says, his smile matching hers before he steps out of the car and holds the door open for her to climb out behind him.

She has the key in the door and is about to let them in when she feels him slide an arm around her and press his mouth against the side of her neck, his tongue moving slowly up her skin until his lips capture her earlobe.

"Mmm, hello," she says, her voice strained, breathy as his fingers stroke across her stomach, clutching at the satin of her dress.

"I was so busy noticing how beautiful you look tonight, I somehow missed how good you _smell_." His teeth nibble gently on her earlobe, moving down to her neck, and it's all she can do to get the door open so they can both stumble slightly clumsily into her apartment.

"How do I smell?" She drops her purse on the table and leans back as he peels her jacket off her shoulders and curls his hand into her hair, lifting it up and pressing his lips against the nape of her neck. "Tell me..."

"Vanilla? Some kind of soft floral thing? Fuck, don't ask me to try and name it..." He pauses, she feels him take a deep breath, considering his answer. "I don't know. Perfect, you smell perfect."

His hand settles again on her abdomen and she clasps his hand in hers as she feels his breath on the side of her neck. She feels him growing hard against her ass and she can't resist pushing back against him, biting her lip when he groans and grinds into her, but she needs more, she needs to feel his skin on hers, she needs his hardness inside her.

"Take my dress off," she says, sighing his name when his fingers slowly unzip her and slide inside the satin, the rough skin of his fingertips dragging down her spine.

With a push from her, the dress falls to the floor, a dark red puddle at her feet, a puddle she steps quickly out of and leaves behind as she takes his hand to pull him down the hallway and through the living room, stumbling slightly in the dark rather than wasting a second to stop and turn on a light. In the bedroom there's only her nightlight, offering a dim glow across the room, but she needs more, she wants to see him so she flicks on the lamp beside the bed and looks up at him, still wearing everything but his jacket. Reaching up, she slowly, carefully loosens his tie, kissing him as she pulls it out from under his collar before she moves to his shirt buttons. Not for the first time tonight she's hit with just what he does to her, and it catches her breath for a few seconds. His eyes, bright in the lamplight, his broad shoulders, his strong hands, his soft, sweet smile, the one he only ever turns on her, not to mention the clear evidence of how much he wants her, more than obvious when she slowly unzips his pants and watches a hungry look drift into his eyes.

She feels herself flush as he looks at her, and she's already wet, she's been wet since he started nibbling on her ear in the doorway, but when he cups her face and covers her lips with his, a searing heat rushes through her abdomen and pools between her legs. As much as she'd love this to be a long, leisurely night of slow, tender sex, what she wants more right now is him inside her, fast and hard, and she hopes the urgency of her tongue against his sends him the message. Pulling back and turning to kick off her shoes, she hears his sharp intake of breath and she knows suddenly exactly what she wants. Bending forward, she pulls her black lace panties down and dangles them off her thumb, glancing into his eyes as she takes a step forward and holds the underwear in front of him.

"Well, well, I seem to be quite wet," she murmurs, watching his eyes darken as he takes the panties from her hand and runs his thumb over them. "I'm going to blame you for that."

"Happy to take full responsibility..." He slides his thumb into his mouth and she lets out an involuntary moan as she blinks up at him. "You taste so _good_ , Mackenzie."

She doesn't bother to pull back the sheets but she does manage to push her many cushions out of the way and onto the floor as she climbs onto the bed and crawls towards the top, pushing her knees into the pillows when she does. Reaching the headboard, she takes hold of it and flicks her hair over her shoulder as she looks back to see him still standing at the foot of the bed, his breathing heavy, his eyes slightly glazed over.

"I know you're a big boy, but you're not going to get inside me from there," she says, smirking when his brain seems to suddenly seem to find its gear and he pulls his shorts down, kicks them off and climbs onto the bed behind her.

The fact that she just waved her wet panties in his face should hopefully mean he totally gets how ready she is, and when he moves behind her and she feels how hard he is, she knows the message has been received loud and clear. His hand reaches for the headboard and covers hers, his fingers tightly clasping hers as his other hand moves between her legs and glides slowly through her wetness. Again she turns her head to look over her shoulder at him, biting her lip as she nods, letting out a long breath when he pushes himself slowly into her, a breath that becomes a moan when he gets so deep she can't think of anything other than how good he feels inside her.

When he starts to move, she grips the headboard harder, aware of it banging against the wall but really not able to give two shits about the noise, deciding that eye contact with her neighbours is seriously overrated anyway. He pulls back and drives deep into her again, a slow, hard thrust that she meets with a moan as she pushes back against him. His hand moves to her stomach and slides up her rib cage until he finds what he's looking for and his fingers toy with her nipple, his thumb joining in and pinching hard enough that she lets out another moan, much louder than the last. Covering his hand with hers, she pushes it from her breast and back down her stomach, rolling her nipple between her own thumb and finger as she feels his hand move between her legs, exactly where she wants it.

"God, Mackenzie..." He pants and seems to give up on speech, instead sliding his fingers through her wetness in small circles over and over as he pushes harder into her.

He has it just right, his fingers are right where she needs them to be, doing just what she needs them to do, and she moans his name. Lifting her hand from her breast, she grips the headboard, both hands now hanging on as he pushes harder into her, the rhythm of his fingers against her never missing a beat. She knows he likes to watch her when he's inside her, it's why they don't tend to end up in this position all that often, so she takes one hand from the headboard and shifts slightly to glance back over her shoulder at him, her eyes meeting his. His fingers pick up speed and she licks her lips as she watches him, her eyes locked on his, neither one of them breaking contact. She feels herself building to an explosion under his touch, his fingers moving faster, slowing down, speeding up again, a final flick of his thumb sending her over the edge, her orgasm hitting hard, leaving her throbbing into his hand as she lets out a strangled moan. His breathing is heavy, laboured, and his fingers cling to hers as he pulls right back and slides deep into her one more time, a sound that she thinks is her name falling from his lips as he moves his hand, sticky with her wetness, onto her ass, kneading her skin as he stills and comes into her with a long, low groan.

He pulls slowly out of her and she feels his lips on her back, kissing her shoulder blades, softly, gently, before his hands move to hers and he prises her fingers from the headboard and pulls her down beside him, pushing her hair out of her face and running his thumb tenderly across her cheekbone. Closing the gap between them, she presses her lips to his, too spent to do much more than rest her mouth against him as she tries to catch her breath.

"Damn, if this is what dragging you to the Christmas party gets me then we're going every damn year until we're too old to dance," she says, her voice hoarse as she pulls back slightly to look at him, smiling lazily.

"Oh honey, if you think that was good, you just wait until Christmas Day." His hand moves to her shoulder, his thumb softly circling the freckle he loves, his gaze fixed on hers.

"As if I didn't already love Christmas..." She's overwhelmed once more by what she feels for him, by how strong it is, how it feels permanent but not terrifying. Her mum had grinned and told her that's how it is when you meet the person you're meant to be with, and she was right. "I love you, Billy."

"I love you too." He leans in to kiss her gently on the forehead, her eyes drifting shut in response. "Always will."


	2. 2007: Ten Lords a Leaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Suddenly he’s overcome by fury, confused all over again when he thinks about how she could have been telling him she loved him while proving with another man that she quite clearly didn’t. He rethinks that, he knows she loved him, it was obvious when she looked into his eyes, she just didn’t love him enough._

It’s been seven months. Seven long, painful months. Seven months of trying to let go of his anger, only to fail dismally. It would be easier if he could forget about her, if he didn’t still love her, if his heart didn’t stutter every time he sees a tall brunette walking ahead of him on the street. In spite of everything, he misses her, he really fucking misses her. He misses waking up beside her, watching her sleep, holding her hand, kissing her, making her smile, breathing her scent, her stupidly sexy giggle. The more he misses her, the angrier he gets. He’s pretty fucking sure she loved him, to some extent at least, so he can’t understand how she could betray him the way she did, and with her asshole ex-boyfriend of all people. He feels like an idiot too, allowing his complete adoration for her to cloud his thinking, blinding him to what she was up to whenever his back was turned.

They should have been spending their third Christmas together, he should have been teasing her again about her love of all things seasonal and buying her far too many presents. He thinks they’d have been engaged by now too, he had asked her to move in with him (how that somehow led to her bombshell he still doesn’t know), they were talking seriously about the future, both of them on the same page when it came to marriage and a family. Or so he thought. He remembers the morning after they broke up like it was yesterday, she showed up at his door at seven and begged him to forgive her, like she’d done something minor, something he could have forgiven overnight. He remembers her trying to tell him something about when it had happened, as if the timing of betrayal is directly proportional to how much pain it causes.

Instead of Christmas with Mackenzie, he’s spending Sunday afternoon working his way through a bottle of scotch as he stares blankly at a Knicks game, and she’s…well, she’s in the Middle East, he knows that much. He’s seen her reports, and she’s good, of course she is, even though she always insisted the control room was her domain she’s amazing in front of the camera too. She looks thinner, a little pale, slightly fragile, and the part of him that isn’t aching to hold her is glad she looks like she’s suffering too, why the fuck should he be the only one miserable? God, she’s still beautiful though, the sight of her face on screen sends a pang of longing right through him every time, a pang that doesn’t fade until long after he’s turned off the TV and downed a couple more drinks. His phone rings and he grabs it, sees Charlie’s name on the screen and sighs before answering.

“Hey, Charlie,” he says, his tone wary, wondering why his boss might be calling on a Sunday afternoon two days before Christmas. “Everything alright?”

“Sure, yeah." Charlie pauses and it's clear he has something to say. "I was just wondering what you were up to."

“Right now I’m watching the Knicks game,” he says, turning the volume down and reaching for his glass, taking a large gulp. “You?”

“Oh you know, weekend stuff, house stuff, the usual.” He hears Charlie sigh and he wonders what the real reason for his call is.

“Which I’m guessing you didn’t call to tell me, so how about you tell me why you _did_ call.” He doesn’t mean to be short with Charlie, his bad mood sure as shit isn’t his fault, but still, if he could just be left alone to watch the game and keep drinking, he’d be okay with that.

“It’s December 23rd, Will,” Charlie says simply, like he's making a public service announcement. “Two days before Christmas.”

“Right…” He pauses but Charlie says nothing more. “Nope, you’re going to have to tell me where you’re going with this because I’m totally lost.”

"What are your plans for Christmas Day?" Charlie sighs impatiently. "That's where I'm going. If you don't have plans, you're coming to my place."

"Oh, no, I'm good," he says, knowing Charlie means well but also knowing he would be terrible company. "Thanks, Charlie, but-"

"But what?" Charlie stops him and he has a feeling he's not going to take no for an answer. "Come on, Will. You don't have plans and Nancy always cooks enough to feed the fucking five thousand. We can eat, drink, watch some TV. Hell, you might even enjoy it."

"Fine, alright, I'll come." He shakes his head at Charlie's insistence, realising how much easier agreeing is than arguing. "For the record though, it was the promise of Nancy's cooking that sold it, not your nagging."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He can hear Charlie smiling down the phone. "Enjoy the rest of the game."

*

"Why don't you take your drinks into the living room," Nancy says, smiling as she nods at them both. "I'm going to make a quick call to my sister and then I'll join you."

Charlie was right, Nancy did cook an enormous meal, there was constant wine flowing, and he admits it, it was a nicer couple of hours than he would have spent at home, drinking alone, brooding, thinking about how things could have been, _should_ have been. As they sit down and Charlie hits the remote to turn on the TV, he can feel his curiosity from the other armchair, so he meets it head on and turns to him.

"Thanks for this," he says, raising his glass in Charlie's direction and nodding. "The invite, I mean."

"You're welcome, I figured you'd just be staying home alone watching terrible TV and drinking." Charlie shrugs and takes a sip from his glass, smirking over the top of it.

"Which is, if I'm not mistaken, exactly what I'm doing here." He nods at the TV, at whichever badly constructed Christmas movie is currently playing.

"Fair enough, but in company it's kind of acceptable." Charlie glances at the TV and smiles. "I'm sure you're right though, this is probably some godawful shit."

"Christmas godawful shit though." He smiles, suddenly grateful for Charlie's invite. "Covered in seasonal sparkles."

Charlie snorts and turns his attention from the TV back to his drink, reaching for the bottle on the table and topping up both glasses, smiling as Will nods his thanks.

"So, are you settled back in New York now?" Charlie asks, eyebrows raised. "I mean, it's been a while, right? You were in DC for how long?"

"Long enough," he says, knowing Charlie won't leave it at that, but trying his best to direct him away from where he thinks this line of questioning is headed. "Time for a change, you know."

"You left because she was staying." It's not a question, it's a simple statement, one he can't argue with because it's true, so he nods and takes a drink as Charlie continues. "You know she's field reporting now, don't you, in the Middle East?"

"Yeah." He shrugs and tries not to think about where she is, about the danger she's in, and definitely not about how he watches her some nights and wishes he could turn back the clock.

"She's good." Charlie says simply. "She's really good."

He doesn't respond, opting to drink instead, but Charlie's right, she is good. She's smart, she's knowledgable, she's engaging, and she looks fucking beautiful on camera. In the rare moments when he does allow himself to give a shit, he wishes she'd gone somewhere less volatile, somewhere with fewer risks, but Mackenzie never did choose the safe option if there was one more challenging on offer. Maybe that was his downfall, maybe _he_ was the safe option, and when it came right down to it, he just wasn't enough for her.

The call he got from her sister not long after it ended springs to mind suddenly, unexpectedly, and he can still hear the pure anger in her voice as she told him if anything happened to Mackenzie overseas he should consider himself to blame. He didn't agree, he still doesn't, whatever happens to Mackenzie is down to the risks she chooses to take, but there's a tiny voice that reminds him over and over that if anything _did_ happen to her, he wouldn't cope well. He isn't sure he'd cope at all.

"You never met her, did you?" He wonders suddenly if that's true, if maybe Charlie had met Mackenzie, if he'd sought out the industry's newest star, his curiosity piqued by her reputation.

"Considering _somebody_ didn't bother to introduce us..." His eyes brows raise again and a teasing smile reaches his eyes.

"Well..." He does feel bad about never bringing her to New York, about telling Charlie he'd meet her soon enough but never actually making it happen. "She's like you in a lot of ways. You'd like her, I think."

"Yeah." With a nod, Charlie sighs and drains the last of the Scotch in his glass. "I'm sure I would."

*

On the way back to his apartment, he thinks about Charlie and Nancy, about how they have something so many people never get to experience, a long, happy marriage, an easy companionship, a perfect partnership. He had never given all of that much thought, he grew up in house where things were a million miles from perfect, there wasn’t a shred of equality in his parents’ relationship and he wasn’t prepared to even consider that marriage could be something good. Then he met Mackenzie, and suddenly it was all he could think about. He wanted to marry her, wanted a family with her, to grow old with her, to bicker and make up, to curl up next to her for the rest of his life. He was sure she wanted the same things, from the day she told him she loved him, she repeated it every day, she talked about their kids as though they were more than just an abstract concept, and then with one devastating confession she ripped it all apart.

He has a drink poured and is sitting at the table, laptop open in front of him before he even knows he’s reaching for it. His brain (helped along by alcohol, admittedly) wants to see her face, he wants to see her, just for a minute, he needs to look at the two of them, to remind himself that they were happy, even if deep down she was lying to him. He clicks into his photos folder, opens up the first photo the cursor happens to hover over, and there she is, smiling sweetly into the camera as she tucks herself tightly against his side. God, he barely recognises himself, he looks relaxed, carefree, there’s something in his eyes that he hasn’t seen since she left and doesn’t know if he’ll see again. Suddenly he’s overcome by fury, confused all over again when he thinks about how she could have been telling him she loved him while proving with another man that she quite clearly didn’t. He rethinks that, he knows she loved him, it was obvious when she looked into his eyes, she just didn’t love him enough. He closes the folder and reaches for the bottle on the table in front of him, pouring yet another drink, aware that he really should stop drinking at some point, but unable to find the inclination to actually do so.

Flicking the TV on, it takes him only an instant to recognise It’s a Wonderful Life, Mackenzie’s favourite Christmas movie, and although every instinct he has tells him to turn it off, he somehow can’t bring himself to do it. He watches as George Bailey teeters on a snowy bridge, contemplating ending it all, and he thinks about what a different movie it would have been had the angel just left him the hell alone to do it, to end his misery. Snapping himself out of the thoughts that threaten to turn darker, he thinks about how Mackenzie told him on both Christmases they were together that it wasn’t really Christmas unless she watched It’s a Wonderful Life. He doubts it’s high on her list of priorities this year, not since she decided running away to a fucking war zone was a good career move.

He opens his emails, almost without conscious thought, and at the top is another from her. She’s been emailing for months, sometimes regularly, sometimes with weeks in between, he imagines that’s down to the spotty internet coverage in Pakistan, Afghanistan, wherever she is right now. Not that he could say for sure because he sure as hell hasn’t been opening them, he’s been sending them straight to the delete folder and one of these days he’ll delete them permanently. For now though, he feels an inexplicable pull to the one she sent just hours ago and before he can talk himself out of it, he double clicks and opens it up.

_I don’t know if you’re reading these emails, or maybe you’re reading them and wondering why the fuck I don’t just get hit by a tank already…anyway, it’s Christmas, somebody managed to get hold of some actually decent vodka so I’m mildly buzzed on something other than fear and adrenaline for the first time in months._

_I think about you all the time...every day, every night. And now it’s Christmas, and I just need to know you’re okay, and that you’re not alone, but I won’t ever know because you won’t answer me. I don’t blame you for that, I know you hate me, and it’s what I deserve, but I still love you, I think I’ll always love you. Oh, I sent you a letter too, to ACN in New York, I don’t know if you got it, but I just thought (stupidly, probably) that maybe a letter isn’t quite as easy to ignore as an email. I don’t know, I guess I’m an idiot. You've probably long moved on, and I would say I wish I could do the same but that wouldn't be true. I don't. I don't want to move on, I don't want to forget you, I want-well, I still want you._

_Merry Christmas, Billy. I love you- M, xx_

The letter. He did get her fucking letter, buried in amongst the usual pile of random shit that comes to him c/o ACN, mostly opened and discarded, but he’d recognised her writing immediately, had tossed the rest of the pile aside and stared at the envelope, her familiar scrawl across the front, taunting him. Just like the emails, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of it, so he’d shoved it angrily into a drawer and refused to think about it. Until now, now it’s all he can think about, so he stands up and goes in search of it.

It’s a card, not a letter, he can see that now he has it in his hand, and he can’t take his eyes off her writing as he takes a breath and opens it. On the front of the card is a flower, a red flower, the only splash of colour on a white snow scene, probably the closest thing to a Christmas card she could find, and God knows how long ago she had to post it for it to actually arrive before Christmas.

The sight of her familiar writing inside catches him completely off guard, the slightly messy scrawl, the way she loops certain letters…he finds himself running his finger slowly over her name before he realises he’s an idiot, sighing and pulling back. What she’s written is not a million miles away from what he just read in her email, he wonders if that's her plan, to repeat her message in various forms until one of them gets through to him. He suspects if he’d listened to any of the dozens of voicemails she left him when they first broke up it would follow along the same lines. She loves him, she misses him, she’s sorry. He hears it, he just doesn’t believe it. He slides the card back into the envelope, grabs the now empty bottle and strides into the kitchen, tearing the card into pieces and dumping it with the bottle into the trash.

Walking back into the living room, he glances at the TV and sees George Bailey running across the same snowy bridge, about to be reunited with his family, and he’s suddenly unable to bear another second of it. He shuts off the TV, decides Christmas is officially done, and heads to bed.


	3. 2009: Four Calling Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Frankly, she wouldn't care if she had slept through Christmas, all the holidays do now is remind her of everything she used to love, everything she had before she inadvertently ripped it to shreds and ended up overseas, ostensibly to do something different, something challenging. In reality, running away._

The voices are familiar. Muffled and not instantly recognisable to her foggy brain, but definitely familiar. Her mouth is dry, and she tries to swallow but can’t seem to, opting to cough instead, regretting it when an instant and searing wave of pain overwhelms her. She opens her eyes, and the first face she sees is her mother's, wearing an expression of thinly veiled panic which she is attempting to cover with a smile.

"Hello, my darling." Her mother reaches out and takes hold of her hand, gently squeezing her fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?" Deliberately avoiding the question, she looks away from her mother's concerned face and around the room, realising she has no idea where she is or how long she's been here. "Where am I?"

"You're in hospital, Mackie." Her mother speaks slowly, as though she's talking to a small child, he smile faltering slightly.

"Yeah, I figured that much." She attempts to roll her eyes but it's too much effort so she closes them instead, shielding herself from the clear worry written all over her mother's face as she repeats her question. "Where am I?"

"Kulsum International," her father's voice surprises her, she doesn't know why, because of course he's here too, sitting beside her mother, looking equally worried but managing to sound calmer than his wife.

"Oh," she says, turning her head to look at the IV in her arm, the realisation that she's still in Islamabad slowly sinking in. She doesn't know why that surprises her, perhaps because the last time she woke up in hospital to see her parents' concerned faces, it turned out she was in Germany with absolutely no recollection of the journey there.

"You collapsed, sweetheart, in transit, it seems," he father says quietly. "By the time they got you here, you had a fever of a hundred and five and were completely down for the count. They had to open you up again, unfortunately...it's an infection, they think something in the wound didn't heal as it should have, or even that something may have been missed in the original surgery, they don't seem entirely sure."

"Great. Like the scar wasn't already going to be bad enough." She has no clue if she's been asleep for hours, days, or fuck, _weeks_ even, and she doesn't really care beyond a vague curiosity. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days, darling. They sedated you rather heavily and got you right onto antibiotics to bring down your fever." Her mother speaks up again, patting her hand before standing up and moving to the side of the bed, filling a small glass of water and handing it to her. "Tiny sips, Mackie, we don't want you throwing it up."

"Thanks." She takes the glass, wincing once again as pain slices through her body when she tries to sit up.

"There's a little more colour in your cheeks today, Mackie, and at least you haven't slept right through Christmas." Her father's tone is a clear effort at cheeriness and if she didn't feel quite so numb she'd probably appreciate the attempt.

Frankly, she wouldn't care if she had slept through Christmas, all the holidays do now is remind her of everything she used to love, everything she had before she inadvertently ripped it to shreds and ended up overseas, ostensibly to do something different, something challenging. In reality, running away. Another year gone by, another twelve months of silence from Will. She keeps emailing, writing letters, she still calls sometimes too, knowing he won't pick up but just needing to hear him as the call invariably goes to his voicemail. The pain of being consigned to his past fiercely rivals the ache in her abdomen, some days she would say it outstrips it by a country mile. She told him in an email about the stabbing, although she doubts he's reading a single one of the countless emails she sends, and her morphine induced ramblings probably wouldn't be the best place for him to start. She knows he still has contacts at CNN too, so she's certain he knows about what happened, which just makes it clear he really doesn't care. Pondering whether he would have come to her funeral had she not made it, she sighs at the thought and catches her mother's eye, biting her lip as she feels pure sadness trying to pull her under, like it does so frequently.

"Are you in pain, Mackie?" Her mother asks, not waiting for an answer before she turns to her husband, frowning. "Go and fetch the doctor, won't you, Robert, let him know she's awake."

"I'm fine," she says, taking another sip from the glass but not missing the worried look her parents share before he father stands and moves towards the door. "You really didn't have to fly all the way over here, Mum. I'm sure Jim would have gladly kept you updated."

"For the second time in a couple of months, we get a call to say you're unconscious in some far flung hospital and you honestly think we'd be happy with being updated over the phone?" Her mother is trying to keep her voice level, but the tremble running through it gives her away. "You don't think we've been worried sick about you since you were first stabbed? Well, I have news for you, missy, just because your children are grown up, it doesn't stop you from wanting to keep them safe. You'll understand that someday, but for now all you can do is take my word for it."

There it is, yet another thing to disappoint her parents with, that they won't be getting grandchildren from her. She's thankful that she has siblings, that their successes will prove the perfect counterpoint to the way she's managed to fuck her life up. She may not have taken in everything the surgeon in Landstuhl told her after the stabbing, but she understood enough to know that the damage from the knife was such that she very likely won't be having children. Not that she ever wanted them with anyone other than Will, and clearly that was an option no longer on the table, but still, there's a world of difference between making a choice and having it taken from you.

"I'm sorry," she says, unable to look at her mother, not feeling quite strong enough to deal with the inevitable disappointment she'll find in her eyes.

"No, _I'm_ sorry, sweetheart. I don't mean to sound like I'm angry with you, of course I'm not." Moving from the chair, her mother sits down on the side of the bed, carefully so as not to bump her IV line or jostle her, her fingers gently pushing her hair behind her ear. "It's just that...I'm so proud of you, we both are, we always have been. You're our eldest girl, and you're so bright and independent, and I understand why you do what you do, because you're quite wonderful at it, but lately I'm scared, _terrified_ that the next phone call we get is going to be...is going to tell us something even worse."

"I know." She closes her eyes and leans into her mother's touch, overcome with a despair she can often fight off, but not anymore, not right now. Now it envelops her, wraps around her like a rope, tightening with every breath she takes. "You know, I...I wish I'd just died. When I was stabbed, I mean, I wish I'd died then, it would have been easier for everyone."

"Mackenzie, please don't say that, _please_." She hears the heartbreak in her mother's tone, and she wishes she could find it in herself to say she didn't mean what she just said, but she can't. Every day she thinks about the stabbing, replays it in her mind, and it always ends up with her wondering not how she survived it, but _why_. "Darling, look at me."

Shaking her head, she's not surprised when she feels her mother's hand on her chin, tilting her face up to look at her. She _is_ surprised to see tears brimming in her mother's eyes, and she feels it all over again, the thought that if the stab wound had been fatal she wouldn't be putting her parents through this now. They could have grieved, said goodbye, started to move on, rather than being filled with dread every time the phone rings. Her mother is tough, always has been, and she hates to be responsible yet again for bringing her to tears, for the look currently in her eyes as she strokes a thumb across her chin.

"Why don't you come home with us for a while, Mackie? Maybe just for Christmas, give yourself some recuperation time, let us spoil you a little," her mother says, pausing for just a second, not long enough for her to really respond. "You've been through such a difficult few months, it's perfectly alright to take a break, to get some rest, and we'd love to have you, of course."

"I don't know, Mum, I don't want to risk...well, being fucking fired, I guess." She fears it may already be too late, she knows a psych evaluation is standard after a traumatic injury while on assignment, and even if she somehow managed to scrape through it, she doesn't know if the network will consider sending her back out into the field again. Yet still, she knows she has to fight for it, because if she doesn't have her job, she has nothing.

"You were injured while reporting for them, you're entitled to some recovery time, darling, so you can come back stronger. Not to mention that considering the circumstances it would be beyond disgraceful if they were to fire you, good lord, Mackie." There's a frown on her mother's face as she watches her, searching for some sort of positive response that she just can't find the energy to give.

"Mum, I-" She doesn't know what she was about to say, when all she can think is that she's exhausted and she doesn't know if she could bear a Christmas surrounded by people, even the people she loves. When the door opens and she sees her father walk in with a doctor in tow, she lets out a soft sigh of relief.

"Miss McHale, it's very good to see you back with us," the doctor says, smiling. "I'm Dr Larson. How are you feeling?"

He's American, of course, this isn't a makeshift hospital tent, it's one of the best hospitals in Pakistan, and it's expensive too, she knows that as surely as she knows her parents would pay whatever necessary to make sure she has the finest care.

"Sore, I guess." She shrugs, reaching once more for the glass of water in her mother's hand. "A bit groggy. It's an infection, my dad said? I had a headache, and didn't feel quite right, I thought maybe I was just a bit dehydrated, but then I don't remember anything else, to be honest, after getting into the jeep with the crew."

"Well, your crew did the right thing and got you over here on the double. By the time you arrived, you were spiking a fever of a hundred and five which is right on the line of real concern," the doctor says, stepping closer to the bed and picking up her chart, scanning it before looking back at her. "I'm afraid we had to do a little exploratory surgery to establish if it was an infection causing the fever, which thankfully it was."

"Thankfully?" She hears her mother's question cut through her rushing thoughts and is grateful that someone in the room is managing to process what the doctor is telling them.

"Absolutely." The doctor nods and smiles reassuringly, first at her mother and then at her. "With a fever as high as yours was, the worry is that we won't be able establish what's causing it. As soon as we know what it is we can start to treat it."

"Hence the antibiotics?" She gestures at the IV and raises her eyebrows.

"We have you on a pretty heavy dosage, along with some morphine, which is probably why you're feeling a little groggy, but you're responding well." He nods and scribbles on the chart before he moves to the side of her bed, lifting her wrist to take her pulse, the sudden silence in the room feeling heavy. "Excellent, what I'd like is for you to try and eat something, get some sleep, and I'll check on you in the morning. Do you have any questions?"

"I don't...no, I don't think so," she says, frowning as she realises suddenly how hungry she is.

"Okay then, I'll arrange some food for you, and one of the nurses will check on you through the night. I'll be back tomorrow morning," the doctor says, smiling kindly as he turns towards the door. "Try to get some rest, Miss McHale. Good night."

She manages half a sandwich accompanied by a small carton of apple juice that makes her feel like she's about five years old, and the relief on her parents' faces makes her wonder just how in need of a meal she looked.

"I'm going to pop to the bathroom, sweetheart, and then your father and I should go and let you get some sleep." Standing up, her mother squeezes her hand as she nods.

"I'm so sorry you've ended up in here, poppet." Her father smiles at her and she feels tears pricking the back of her eyes for the first time since she woke up. "This really has been a frightful couple of months for you, hasn't it?"

"I've had better." She tries to smile but it falls flat and she knows her dad sees right through her efforts, just as he always can. "I'm alright, Daddy."

"I'm really not sure you are." Just as her mother did earlier, he shifts onto the bed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "But you will be, I _am_ sure of that."

"Could you do something for me before you leave?" she asks.

"Of course," he says, nodding as he pulls back and smiles at her. "What do you need?"

"Could you replace whatever's in this IV with vodka?" She's only half joking, right now the thought of a blissful surrender to alcohol is an inviting one.

"If I didn't think your mother would unleash the full force of her wrath, I absolutely would." He father smiles and squeezes her hand. "Now, was there something I could actually help with?"

"Is my phone around here anywhere? I'm sure I would have had it with me..." She pauses, shifts slightly and looks at the cabinet beside her bed, but there's only a jug of water and a vase of flowers there, no sign of her phone.

"Ah, yes." Her father stands and moves around the bed, opening the door of the cabinet, lifting out the phone and handing it to her. "Jim brought it in, along with your charger. He said it was bad enough you were going to wake up in hospital again, the last thing you would want is to be without your phone."

"He knows me well." She smiles and marvels once again at Jim's tenacity, his staunch loyalty, his instant dismissal of her suggestion after the stabbing that he'd be wise to look for a new reporter to work with.

"Is there someone you'd like me to call for you, Mackie?" He smiles at her, turning as Penny walks back into the room.

"No thanks, I just wanted to check for any messages, that's all." She turns the phone on and reaches for her father's hand. "You should go, get some sleep, you must both be exhausted."

"We'll be back first thing in the morning, sweetheart, and the nurses here know how to get hold of us should they need to." Her mother leans down and kisses her forehead, like she did to all of her kids when they were little, and there's a brief sense of comfort that comes with that memory. "I hope you're able to sleep. Is there anything we can do before we leave? Are you comfortable? Can I get you some more water? Is there-"

"Mum, I don't need anything." She stops her mother, knowing she means well, that she's worried, but needing to be left alone to try and order her spiralling thoughts. "Except maybe the remote for the TV?"

"Here you go." She takes the remote out of her mother's hand and nods her thanks, waiting until both parents have kissed her before she says goodbye and lets out a long breath as the door closes behind them.

The first text message on her phone is from Harriet, characteristically blunt: _'Fuck, you have got to stop doing this. You're scaring the shit out of us, and frankly, I don't appreciate this level of attention seeking from you. I love you though, you little shit, call when you can. xx'_

There's a message from Jim (unsurprisingly less aggressive than her sister's), telling her he'll be in to visit as soon as he can, asking her to let him know if she needs anything, and that's it, two messages. She replies to both, thanking Jim and telling him she's fine and doesn't need him to bring anything, and letting Harriet know she'll call soon, when she's had some non-drug induced sleep. Maybe she can blame the perfect storm of painkillers, antibiotics and surprise surgery for the fact that her fingers move to her contact list and before she can think about it she's dialling Will's number. She knows it will go right to voicemail but she just desperately needs to hear his voice, even in his short, slightly brusque greeting, and even though she knows the minute he realises the message is from her he'll delete it. The call connects to his voicemail and she hears his familiar voice, the voice that still makes her stomach flip over, and that tonight brings a lump to her throat that she swallows to clear before she speaks.

"Hi Will, it's me...Mackenzie. I...well, I know it's been a long time, and I'm almost certain you'll never hear this message, but still...I just needed to hear your voice, I guess. I've managed to land myself in hospital again, and I thought maybe...actually, I don't know what I thought. I...I wish you'd pick up just once, I wish you'd let me explain, and I know it's crazy, it's been years now and you've probably long moved on, you probably haven't given me a thought in God knows how long. Anyway, yeah, I don't even know why I'm calling...I'm sorry. For everything, I'm...I'm sorry."

She hangs up, suddenly angry with herself for her weakened resolve, for her garbled message, for being unable to stop longing for him even after all this time. The only saving grace is that he won't hear her message, she doesn't have to worry about him listening to it and pitying her for failing to accept that he wants nothing to do with her. Putting the phone down, she shifts carefully onto her side, reaching for the remote and switching the TV on, hoping she can find something soothing, to take her mind of the nagging ache pulling at her abdomen, something that might lull her to sleep.

When she sees what's on the screen she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry as she watches George Bailey standing in the snow, peering over the bridge, desperate for help, for some sort of sign. She thinks about the last time she watched what she always considered her favourite seasonal film, and how Will teased her all over again about her love of Christmas, a smile on his face the entire time. She wonders if he's watched it since then, if he thinks of her, or if she's forever ruined a perfect film for him. For a few more minutes she watches, she sees Clarence show up, knows that George Bailey is about to be shown what could have been had he never been born, and suddenly she can stand it no more. Wiping the tears from her face that she hadn't even known were falling, she turns the TV off and gives into them, turning her face into the pillow and closing her eyes.


	4. 2012: Five Golden Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's a colour in her cheeks that had been painfully absent for so long, and the sparkle in her eyes is back too, complete with the fire behind them that he feared had gone out for good. She's always been beautiful, even when she was exhausted and sad, but there's a renewed beauty now, she's luminous again, her happiness showing on her face, in her smile, and it mesmerises him._

It's raining as the taxi pulls into her parents' street, really raining, and he's aware of her head leaning gently against his arm and her hand resting on his leg. When he feels her nails scratching lightly across his thigh, he glances at her and smiles, threading his fingers through hers and squeezing.

"I probably should just say goodbye now," she says, a smile tugging at her lips when he raises a questioning eyebrow. "Once we get out of this car, my mum's going to nab you and I'll be lucky if I see you for the rest of the week."

"Am I going to be interrogated?" He runs his thumb slowly across her knuckles, watching as her smile gets wider.

"She's spent the last six weeks interrogating me, I doubt there are any questions left for you." She looks past him as the taxi comes to a stop outside the house, and he's surprised at how familiar it feels despite his last visit having been more than six years ago. "I guess we're about to find out for sure though."

He's paying the driver when he sees her parents heading towards them, smiles on their faces reminding him once again of just how much they adore their kids, and how clear it is that they miss Mackenzie. He knows she misses them too, and he makes a mental note to try and visit as often as they can now that he's about to be part of the family too.

"Mackie." Penny reaches them first, throwing her arms around Mackenzie, kissing her cheek before holding her at arm's length and smiling. "You look wonderful, darling, and it's so lovely to see you, it's been far too long this time, and we do miss you, you know."

"I know, Mum, I've missed you too." Mackenzie nods and returns her mother's smile. "God, it's pouring. Can we get inside?"

"Yes, of course, I have coffee ready, and there's a little lunch for you, although you probably ate on the flight." Penny pauses and turns to her husband. "Grab the bags would you, Robert?"

"Oh, I've got them, it's fine." He smiles at Robert as he steps towards him, the beam on his face so like Mackenzie's that he can't help smiling a little wider. "Good to see you, Robert."

"You too, Will." Robert nods and takes one of the bags. "Here, let me give you a hand so we can get indoors before we start hearing about the terrible things the rain can do to one's hair."

"Ooh, let me see the ring." Penny reaches for her daughter’s hand as soon as they step through the door, stopping so abruptly in front of him that he almost collides with her. "Oh, Mackie, it’s beautiful!"

“It is, isn’t it?” Mackenzie smiles at her mother and then glances up to catch his eye. “He did okay.”

“Gosh, darling, I’d say he did more than okay,” Penny says, grinning at him when he steps around her to put the bags down in the hallway. “Well done, Will, this really is quite the diamond. No more than she deserves, of course, but still…good choice.”

“She deserves bigger than that but I thought she might want to still be able to lift her hand.” He shrugs and thinks about the small velvet boxes stowed in his carry on to add to her diamond collection.

“I think you might be right about that.” Penny squeezes his hand and smiles, and not for the first time he marvels at how Mackenzie somehow has both her father’s and her mother’s smiles. “It’s perfect.”

As soon as they reach the kitchen it's obvious that "a little lunch" seems a pretty big understatement for the spread Penny has laid on, there's enough food for about ten people even though he knows he and Mackenzie are the only two here today, and everyone else is arriving tomorrow. As they eat, he wonders how much of it is down to them being as worried about Mackenzie over the last few months as he's been, her apparent lack of interest in either food or sleep getting worse with every disastrous Genoa development.

Thank God the weeks since the engagement have seen an improvement on both fronts. He knows she's sleeping, because she's mostly sleeping curled up against him, the force of her need for skin- on-skin contact with him something he wasn't quite prepared for, but sure as hell isn't upset about. She's eating too, they eat breakfast together every morning, she's eating at least something at lunchtime, and if they're not eating out after the show then they eat in his office together before the broadcast. There's a colour in her cheeks that had been painfully absent for so long, and the sparkle in her eyes is back too, complete with the fire behind them that he feared had gone out for good. She's always been beautiful, even when she was exhausted and sad, but there's a renewed beauty now, she's luminous again, her happiness showing on her face, in her smile, and it mesmerises him.

He only realises he's drifted briefly away when he feels Mackenzie's hand on his arm, a curious smile playing across her lips as he shrugs, hoping he can pass off his stupor as the sudden onset of jet lag, but also knowing it's unlikely any of the McHales currently sharing a table with him will buy that.

"Still with us, Billy?" Mackenzie's hand slides slowly down his arm to cover his hand where it's resting on the table, and he nods and smiles softly at her.

"Why don't you pop your things upstairs, darling?" Penny looks at Mackenzie, her smile making it clear how happy she is to have her eldest girl here. "You're in your usual room, and well, I suppose we ought to decide where to put your fiancé."

"Hmm, I guess we should..." Mackenzie replies, and for a brief second he thinks their exchange is serious, and he's already making plans to sneak along the hallway to Mackenzie's room, until he hears Penny snort and realises he's being played.

"I'm sorry, I know that was rather cruel." Penny gives him a teasing grin and he remembers once again how happy he was on his last visit at the thought of being part of this family, even more so now that it's actually happening. "I wouldn't dream of separating the two of you. There's been far too much of that already. Now, the plan is to go out for drinks and dinner this evening, just the four of us, before the rest of the world descends upon us tomorrow and I don't get a moment to start on the endless list of questions I have for you. So I'm going to send your father out with the dogs, Mackie, I'm going to finish wrapping presents, and the two of you can go and nap, unpack, freshen up. How does that sound?"

"Perfect." Mackenzie stands up and rests her hand on her mother's shoulder, and he smiles at the two of them as he moves towards the hallway to pick up the bags, Mackenzie following behind him.

"We were in this room last time I was here with you, right?" He looks over at where she's hanging up a dress, running her hand down the fabric, gently smoothing out the creases.

"You remember that?" She turns and gives him a surprised smile.

"Of course I remember," he says, recalling their trip so clearly it's hard to believe it was years ago. "Like it was yesterday."

"Okay..." She nods and he isn't entirely sure she believes him, and he can't blame her for that. "Do you remember that chair?"

"Oh, I _definitely_ remember that chair. We made pretty good use of it." He glances over at the chair in the corner of the room, overcome by a vivid memory of her in his lap, her face flushed, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip in an effort to keep quiet.

"Want to do it again?" Her smile turns coy, but there's an underlying confidence because she knows his only answer to such an offer will be yes.

"I think you can guess at my answer to that." He returns her smile, his eyes widening when she quickly peels off her cardigan and steps hurriedly out of her jeans. " Wait... _now_?!"

"My mum sent us up here to unpack, freshen up, whatever...there's a lock on the door, I'm standing here in little more than underwear..." She gestures down her body, as though he may have failed to notice she's now dressed in just black lace panties and a tank top. "What do you say?"

"I say lock it right now, Mackenzie." He lowers his voice and watches the slow spread of goosebumps across her arms before he tugs his sweater over his head. "And then get over here."

"Think you can make it quick, Billy?" She slides the lock across and turns back to him, reaching for him, unzipping his jeans, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as he steps out of them.

He loses the ability to speak when her hand slides into his shorts and he feels himself growing instantly hard as the backs of her knuckles brush against him and her lips find his neck, her teeth scraping quickly across his skin before she steps back.

"I can make it quick if you can keep it quiet..." His words tumble out and he watches as she pulls her panties slowly off, doing the same with his shorts, kicking them quickly across the floor.

"Mmm, I do like a challenge," she says with a smirk, and he watches as she grabs a towel and throws it onto the chair before pushing him down onto it.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, her gaze moves from his face down his chest and lands in his lap, her eyes flitting back up to meet his before she leans in and kisses him, sliding her hand into his hair. He moves his hand to her leg, trailing his fingers up her inner thigh, slowly roaming higher. When his index finger runs slowly through her wetness, he feels her teeth tugging on his bottom lip in what is clearly an attempt to keep her end of the bargain, and he makes the decision it's time to keep his so he moves one hand to her hip and guides himself inside her with the other.

"Oh God, yes, Billy..." she murmurs against his lips, her voice cracking slightly as she moves her hands to his shoulders and starts to move in his lap.

They've been engaged for seven weeks and they sure as hell haven't held back on reacquainting themselves with this part of their relationship, and every time they have sex it reminds him of what his own stubborn fury allowed him to miss out on for five long years. Not just the sex, of course, but everything that goes with it...the look in her eyes, the sounds she makes when he's inside her, the way she kisses him and nothing else in the world matters, but thankfully it's now tempered with the knowledge that this is it, that he's going to be married to her soon, and for the rest of his life.

She pulls him from his thoughts by dragging her lips from his and looking into his eyes as she grips onto his shoulders, her fingers grasping his t-shirt more tightly with every tilt of her hips. Suddenly he's glad she decided she wanted this to be fast because if she keeps doing what she's doing, her gaze so intense it almost burns, then he's not going to have a choice. He dips his head and runs his tongue across her shoulder, circling the freckle he loves, grinning against her skin when she lets out a moan she instantly tries to stifle. His fingers slide under her tank top, pressing into the small of her back as she tightens her knees around his thighs and takes him deeper inside her. Settling into a rhythm, she speeds up, riding him harder, faster, tipping her head back slightly when her hair falls into her face, leaving him mesmerised by the flush spreading across her chest and slowly up her neck.

He feels an overwhelming need to kiss her so he pushes a hand into her hair and pulls her to him, his mouth hungrily covering hers. It seems the slight change in angle has the right effect on her as her moan vibrates through his lips and she grinds down harder on him, sliding her tongue into his mouth when he moves his free hand down between them and starts to rub his fingers quickly, almost frantically, against her. He knows she's about to come when she pulls her mouth from his and closes her eyes, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her cheeks dusted pink, and it takes a final circle of his fingers combined with his murmuring of her name to push her over the edge. For him it takes nothing more than the feel of her throbbing core against his hand and the sound of her tiny, breathy moans to make him come hard, groaning her name as he empties himself into her.

She doesn't move to climb off him, instead looping her arms around him, sliding her fingers into his hair and raking her nails slowly down the nape of his neck. He watches her, the relaxed, sated expression on her face, the colour in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, and once again he's struck by just how damn beautiful she is. It's something he's been telling her with ridiculous frequency in the last seven weeks, and he's not ashamed to add to that total.

"You're beautiful," he says softly, smiling as he runs a tender thumb across her bottom lip, bringing it to rest against her cheek.

"And you're a sap." She returns his smile, the look in her eyes suggesting she has no objections to his sappy tendencies. "That was _delicious_ , Will."

"Glad to be of service." He smirks as she starts to climb out of his lap, letting out a long sigh as he slips out of her, standing too when she threads her fingers through his and tugs on his hand.

"Well...I'd say my Christmas stocking has been well and truly filled." She giggles, clearly amused by her own quip, and he smiles before dropping a kiss to the top of her head and following her towards the bathroom.

*

He slides his arm around her and pulls her more tightly against him, remembering how different things were the last time he watched It's a Wonderful Life, and feeling thankful all over again. She moves her hand to his thigh and turns to smile up at him, and he's pretty sure the glistening in her eyes isn't entirely due to the movie. Leaning down, he kisses her, softly, lazily, watching her lips curve into a smile when he pulls back. He doesn't pull his gaze from hers until he hears the door open and Penny walks in, two glasses of something fizzy in her hands, Robert close behind her carrying the same. Mackenzie reaches for the glass her mother is offering, and he does the same, watching the smile on Penny's face get wider as she takes her own glass out of Robert's hand.

"Just a little something to say congratulations," Penny says, holding up her glass and clinking it first against his and then against Mackenzie's. "We couldn't be happier for you both, we're delighted to welcome you back into the family, Will, this time for good. Cheers, my darlings."

"Thank you." Mackenzie beams at her parents before taking a sip from her glass.

"It's also rather lovely to see you with your Christmas sparkle back, Mackie, I must say." Penny smiles at her daughter, and there's genuine happiness in her eyes. "It's been far too long since you've spent Christmas with us, but you've more than made up for it by bringing your lovely fiancé with you this year."

He's confused momentarily because she told him last year she was spending the holidays with her parents, before it hits him like a truck that she obviously lied to him, for reasons he suspects are related to the fact that last Christmas he'd been seeing Nina. When he looks back he still has no real idea what the hell he was thinking spending six months in what was a total sham of a relationship, but he knows a large part of it was to hurt Mackenzie, to show her he could move on. Deep down he had known from the start that moving on with the one person who had heard his message to the woman he was still in love with was never an option.

He'd lied too last Christmas. Not to Mackenzie, she hadn't asked what his plans were and at the time he thought it was because she didn't care, now he thinks she probably made the assumption he was spending it with Nina and couldn't bear the thought of hearing him say it. Nina was the one he'd lied to, telling her when she suggested they spend Christmas together that he had plans, that he'd promised to see his sisters, knowing damn well as the words came from his mouth that she didn't believe him, but not caring about anything other than making sure he didn't spend the holidays pretending their relationship was something it would never be.

She settles back against him, her parents on the couch opposite, quiet as they watch the rest of the movie. His eyes are on the screen but his mind is elsewhere, thinking about everything that's happened this year, from his moment of clarity which led him to break up with Nina, to the complete clusterfuck that was Genoa which thank God ended with his realisation that he couldn't bear another second without Mackenzie. Her head is on his shoulder and his fingers start to weave absently through her hair, the squeeze her hand gives his thigh making it clear it's not an unwelcome touch.

"Well, that was delightful as always." Penny stands up when the movie ends, grinning over at them. "I have a few more things on my list that I really would like to cross off before we head out."

"Is there anything I can help with, Mum?" Mackenzie asks her head not moving from where it's still resting warmly on his shoulder.

"You can stay right there and snuggle with your fiancé, darling," Penny says with a smirk. "Robert, you can give me a hand."

"You didn't spend last Christmas with your family." He waits until her parents are out of the room, and he feels her tense up next to him.

"No." She lifts her head from his shoulder and leans back against the couch, refusing to meet his eyes when he looks at her. "I knew you'd be spending it with...with Nina, and I couldn't fucking bear the thought of you pitying me if you knew I had no plans, so yeah, I lied."

"But you..." He pauses, furious with himself all over again for his constant pattern of hurting her, a fury diluted only by the relief that she forgave him. "You took time off, Jim covered for a few days, I-"

"I know I took a few days, but I didn't spend Christmas with my parents, I didn't spend it with anyone, okay?" She sighs and turns to look at him, the smile she tries to give him going no way to hide the hurt in her eyes. "I stayed at home, I slept, I drank, I tried not to think about you spending a cosy little Christmas with Nina, I-"

"I didn't spend it with her," he says quickly, realising it's irrelevant a year on but still needing her to know, for reasons he can't seem to put his finger on. "Honey, I did the same as you...well, not quite the same, I didn't lie about being on a flight to London. But the staying at home and drinking? Yeah, that was my Christmas too."

"So we were both in the city, both alone." She lets out a laugh, surprising him. "God, we were such idiots."

"I'm sorry." He runs his thumb softly across her cheekbone, pushing her hair behind her ear, and he wonders again how he managed to go so long without touching her.

"We were _both_ idiots, Billy, and we can't change any of what happened now, what's done is done..." She stops and smiles at him, shaking her head. "We've talked and talked, about _everything_ , please let's not go over it again. Last Christmas was last Christmas, it doesn't matter now. What matters is all of our Christmases from now on, many of which my mother will insist on us showing up here for, I should warn you of that."

"I'm totally okay with that," he says, grinning at her as he leans down to kiss her. "I _am_ sorry you felt you had to lie last year though, I swear I never had any fucking intention of spending Christmas with Nina."

"You know, I really don't want to spend any part of our first Christmas back together talking about her," she says, letting out another sigh. "Deal?"

"Definitely." He nods and smiles as she tucks herself against his side. "Deal."

*

It's cold when he steps outside, but it's finally stopped raining, so he lights his cigarette and walks to the corner of the house, taking a deep drag and glancing up at the gradually darkening sky as he exhales. He's cutting down on his smoking, not because of anything Mackenzie has said, just because he really wants to try and live as long as he can now he actually has a reason for wanting to see old age. He figures he'll stop eventually but he's been a smoker for a long time so fuck, it's not a case of just quitting (and he sure as hell wouldn't want to subject Mackenzie to his cold turkey experience), but cutting down is a good start.

He hears the door slide open and he turns, expecting to see Mackenzie, surprised when it's Robert instead walking towards him, jacket on and cigarette in hand, nodding when he offers a light.

"Thanks," Robert says, pausing to light the cigarette, giving Will a smile when he has. "I rarely smoke these days, and Penny will have my hide if she catches me, but there's a slim chance she'll spare me, it being Christmas. One can hope, anyway."

"Relying on the legendary McHale Christmas spirit?" He grins at the older man, thinking about how it's probably Penny who instilled Mackenzie's love of Christmas, although he thinks Robert might be a fan too.

"Something like that, son, yes." Robert nods and takes a drag on the cigarette, blowing out a long breath of smoke before turning back to him. "Actually, I wanted to have a word, if I may?"

"Sure," he says, taking a breath and preparing for whatever Robert wants to say to him. "But let me just say first that I get why you'd be worried, and I don't blame you, but I love Mackenzie, I always have, and I'm never, ever going to do anything to hurt her again. You have my absolute word on that."

"Well, that's jolly good to hear, but what I was going to say was how delighted we are to have you both here for Christmas, and to have you back in the family. Mackenzie's happy, and quite simply, when she's happy we're happy too. Welcome to the McHale clan, Will." Robert claps him on the back, the grin on his face just like Mackenzie's. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

He's about to respond, although he hadn't quite ordered his words, when the door opens again and Robert hides the cigarette behind his back, his eyes widening, the panic in them receding slightly when he sees it's Mackenzie rather than Penny.

"Daddy, do you really think Mum doesn't know what you're doing out here?" There's a grin on Mackenzie's face at having caught her father out, a grin that turns on him next. "And _you_ , Billy, are supposed to be quitting."

"I'm cutting down," he says with a slightly guilty shrug. "Baby steps, honey."

"Alright, if you say so," she says, shaking her head indulgently. "Mum said to let you know we're leaving in about twenty minutes if you're ready."

*

She's at least half awake, he can tell by her breathing, by her slightly restless feet, and by the faint smile that plays across her lips when he slides his hand under her tank top. He takes his other hand and pushes her soft cotton tank higher so he can press his lips to her stomach, grinning against her skin when she squirms, and knowing that when he looks up her eyes will be wide open.

"Mmm, this is quite the way to wake up," she murmurs, her fingers moving into his tousled hair and running slowly through it.

"Well, it's Christmas Eve, I love you, and it didn't seem like a method you'd object to." He opens his mouth and places a line of slow, hot kisses across her abdomen.

"I'm not objecting, I...oh." She stops, her breath catching when he drags her pyjama pants slowly down her legs, his lips moving lower and his tongue swirling circles on her skin.

He pulls back for just a second, long enough for her to kick her feet free of her pants before he moves his lips to her inner thigh, sucking lightly on her skin, following up with a long, slow stroke of his tongue. When he edges higher, he hears her release a low moan and feels her hands tighten in his hair, and when he pushes his tongue against her she's so wet already that he's not surprised to feel himself starting to get hard before she's even touched him. God, she tastes good. Warm, and sweet, and the best taste he could ever wish for to start his day.

"Will?" Her voice is strained, her tone urgent, accompanied by an equally determined tug on his hair until he glances up at her. "Keep your hands down there and get your mouth up here."

Lifting his head, he looks into her eyes as he slides his middle finger inside her, slowly pushing deeper and curling it just the way he knows she likes it, a point instantly proven when her eyes drift shut and she bites down hard on her lip. Obeying her request, he climbs slowly up the bed, his finger still inside her, the widening of her eyes and the smirk dancing onto her lips letting him know the instant she realises how hard he his. His face hovers above hers, looking into her eyes as he moves his finger inside her, watching the blush spread across her cheeks as he pushes deeper, her moan telling him exactly when he finds the spot he's looking for. She drags his face down to hers, her lips capturing his, her teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, gently at first, harder when he curls his finger again. Her hands grip his shoulders and she tucks her face into the side of his neck, her breathing hard and hot on his skin, and with one final stroke of his finger she comes with a shudder against him.

He feels her hand reach down between them and he can't stop the groan that escapes when her hand wraps around him and she murmurs his name. Before he can think through the fog her touch has sent him into, her legs wrap around him and he's nudging hard against her, and when her hips tilt up towards his he acts on pure instinct and slides slowly inside her. Unlike yesterday when they made use of the chair in the corner of their room, he doesn't want to rush this, even though her nails are clawing almost desperately at him, her moans low but urgent. He moves inside her, pushing slowly and pulling back, setting a steady rhythm as he braces himself over her, one hand clutching the pillow beneath her, the other under her, his fingers stroking across her shoulder blade. He feels like the last five empty Christmases have been erased already, just the knowledge that this is the first of many to come fills him with a joy he didn't expect to feel again, and he leans down and kisses her.

"Billy..." She sighs, tilts her hips again, shifting her legs higher around him, and giving him a smile that reminds him of the night he proposed, filled with pure love.

Her eyes stay fixed on his, her hands smooth slowly over his shoulders and when she blinks up at him and smiles again, it's all over for him, and with one final stroke he comes with a groan, pushing his face into the side of her neck and pressing a gentle kiss to her skin.

"You know how I always used to love Christmas?" Her voice floats softly over the top of his head as her fingers run through his hair.

"I do know that." His words on her neck must tickle her because she shudders faintly, letting out a breathy giggle that threatens to get him hard again while he's still inside her.

"For a long time I didn't love it anymore, because I thought I'd ruined the chance of all the happy Christmases that were in our future." He raises his head, needing to look at her, relieved to see a smile on her face. "Well, I'm happy to report that I love it again. I really love it."

"I've got news for you, Mackenzie." Sliding slowly out of her, he rolls onto his back and pulls her with him, teasing his fingers through her hair and softly kissing her forehead. "Me too."


	5. 2014: A Partridge in a Pear Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She falls silent as the film starts, thinking about how many times she must have watched it over the years, and reminded too of the five years she couldn't bear to watch it. The year she was stabbed was almost the exception when she turned on the TV in her hospital room to find it there, taunting her, but she'd been unable to bear it and had switched it off almost immediately._

She hears it as soon as she walks through the door, her favourite sound, the contagious giggle of her son, this time accompanied by the low chuckle of his father. Hanging up her coat and leaving her bags in the hallway, she moves towards the living room and stands in the doorway, taking the opportunity to watch them. They're on the rug in front of the Christmas tree, Thomas in his reindeer t-shirt, Will sitting opposite him, and a huge pile of building blocks between them. She watches as Will stacks the first couple and encourages Thomas to add the next one, which he does, grinning at his father as he praises him. As Will puts one more block on the top of the tower, she sees Thomas's eyes widen and she knows what was causing his giggles, watching as he pushes the blocks down and claps his hands as the pile topples.

"Hey, you two." She steps into the room and they both look up at her with equally sweet smiles, Thomas's with the addition of a finger pointed in her direction, a recent skill on the list of things he's discovered he can do, point to things he likes. "Look at my clever boy, building with your blocks. You having fun?"

"Yeah, and I'm getting pretty good at it too." Will smirks up at her and hooks his hand around her leg, his fingers squeezing her calf. "You okay, honey? Get everything you needed?"

"I did. Plus, you know, maybe some things I didn't exactly _need_." She shrugs, knowing he can resist buying cute clothes for the baby even less than she can.

"Ma-ma-MA!" Thomas shuffles closer to Will and uses him to pull himself up into a standing position before he points up again and makes his way over to her on wobbly but determined legs.

Four nights ago he had startled them by not just pulling himself up, which he had been doing for a while, but by looking over at Will before taking a handful of tentative steps, his legs seeming to move faster than the rest of his body could manage, pure concentration on his face turning to glee when they reacted like he'd just finished the New York marathon. Before that, he had perfected a strange half crawl that gave the appearance of a tiny commando pulling himself through mud, but evidently decided it wasn't getting him where he wanted to be anywhere near fast enough.

He reaches her and she reaches down to take his hands in hers, smiling at him before scooping him up into her arms and kissing his cheek, breathing in the scent she never tires of, her fingers running through his dark hair.

"Hi, baby." She grins at him and he giggles when she rubs her nose against his, his chubby hands clutching at the sides of her face. "Did you have fun with Daddy while Mummy was shopping?"

"We had a real boys morning," Will says, scooping the blocks up and putting them into a box before standing up and running a hand down Thomas's back. "Didn't we, little guy? Beer, poker, strippers, the usual."

"I'd expect nothing less," she says, smirking in his direction and tugging slightly on the arm of their son's long sleeved t-shirt, red and white stripes with a big reindeer on the front. "And didn't I tell you this would look ridiculously cute on him?"

"Pretty sure what you said was 'hell, if we can't dress him up like a candy cane while he's tiny, when can we?', which, before you protest, I don't disagree with." He gently prods the reindeer on the front of the shirt, and Thomas's eyes follow his finger. "You like this, Tom Tom?"

"Da?" Lifting a hand from her face, Thomas finds the reindeer's red nose and points at it, looking back up at her and then at Will.

"Nose," she says, smiling at him and pointing to her own nose, then his, and finally to his shirt. "Nose. That's Rudolph's nose."

She watches as he looks down again at his shirt and she can't resist tracing her finger down his nose one more time, grinning when he scrunches his face up and reaches for her nose, his tiny thumb and index finger pressing down on her nostril.

"What's that, Tom Tom?" She can see him pondering, the way he always seems to when they're teaching him new words, and he often won't repeat it on command but will quietly say it later, like he enjoys taking his time to think it over before he'll commit to it. "Is that Mummy's nose?"

"Mama." He moves his hand from her nose up to her eyelid, resting his finger above her eyelashes and blinking at her. "Eye."

"That _is_ Mummy's eye, clever boy!" She lifts his hand from her face and softly kisses his fingers, smiling at him. "Where are Daddy's eyes, sweetie?"

"Eye." He points towards Will, who leans in and grins when their son's finger prods him just under his eyebrow.

"That's right, Thomas. Good boy," Will says, his smile as proud as she's ever seen it, making her melt the way it so often does. "Where are your eyes? Can you show Mommy and Daddy your eyes?"

Thomas gives a big smile and points to his right eye before clapping his hands, apparently well aware of how happy he's making his parents.

"I think that deserves some lunch, my little genius." She feels him wriggle and knows he wants to be put back down so he can walk, so she kisses his cheek again and sets him down, taking his hand and walking him slowly towards the kitchen.

*

Giving her list a final read, she flicks back to her email, needing to just finish and send the one she has open before she vows to try not look at work for the rest of the weekend. She doesn’t hear Will behind her, so she jumps slightly when he rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Drink?” he asks, smiling when she turns to look up at him.

“Yes, please.” She reaches up to cover his hand with hers, squeezing lightly. ”I’m almost done, I promise. Pour us some drinks, I’ll finish here, check on the baby, and then I’m all yours.”

“You finish up, I’ll check on him.” He kisses the top of her head and steps back, his footsteps fading down the hallway towards Thomas’s room.

She’s aware of him back in the kitchen and then he disappears again, drinks in hand she hopes. She looks at the time, finishes her email and shuts down the laptop with a satisfied sigh. When she walks into the living room, he’s stretched out on the couch, there are two glasses on the coffee table, and he smiles when he sees her, moving to sit up.

“Don’t sit up,” she says quickly, stepping closer and climbing onto the couch, sliding herself against him, her legs tangled with his, her torso pressed to his chest. “I want to snuggle and you’re comfy.”

She settles onto his chest, smiling as his arms come around her, one hand brushing through her hair en route to her shoulder blade, the other hand moving lower, running across her pyjama bottoms and back up to rest at the small of her back. Cuddling with him never gets old, she’s always loved the feel of his arms around her, his big hands on her back, the solid warmth of his chest underneath her, and she loves that he never objects to her attaching herself to him and demanding his touch.

Since Thomas was born she can add something else to the things she loves about Will’s strong, safe hold, because there’s nothing that reduces her to mush quite like the sight of their son in his father’s arms. Thankfully she’s no longer completely enveloped in new mother hormones so she can at least watch them together without dissolving into a helpless puddle.

“While I have you pinned down, can we maybe talk about my list?” she asks, her fingers curling and making small circles on his chest.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Santa about that?” His voice, low and smooth, rumbles under her, sending a slow, comforting warmth through her body.

“Santa already has _that_ list.” She smiles, knowing that her tiny list of three things she’d quite like from him will have been covered weeks ago and that he will have no doubt been adding to it ever since. “The list I want to talk about is what we still need to get done. I’m not panicking…but today is the twentieth, we have tomorrow, then three days of work and then it’s Christmas, so if we’ve forgotten anything-“

“It’s a good thing we have a ton of interns to call on?” He stops her, and he’s only half kidding, he really does ask the oddest things of ACN’s interns which, as president she should frown upon, but she turns a blind eye to because she knows how much the staff loves Will.

“Friendly reminder from the president of your network that the interns are not in post to do your Christmas shopping,” she says, smiling and playfully prodding his chest.

“Then it’s a really good thing I already asked Jim to make sure tomorrow morning’s meetings are covered so I can finish off any shopping my wife might need me to do.” He sounds so proud of himself that she wishes she did have a list for him, but it’s basically done, she only has a few things to ask him.

“You’re mostly off the hook, and my list was boxed off until our son decided to get up and start walking four days ago,” she says, pausing as she wonders if she’s worrying unnecessarily.

“And the fact that our boy is clearly a genius has what to do with your list?” he asks, and she can hear the smile on his voice even without looking up at him.

"Well, he’s getting around now,” she says, certain now as the words come out of her mouth that she’s overthinking. “You can't assume he's where you left him, like a potato, so-"

"A potato?" He snorts and she shrugs against his chest.

"Or some other inanimate object." She sighs and tilts her face up towards him, shifting her hands higher up his chest. “Do you think everything we bought him was on the assumption that he’d still be sitting on his cute little bum, and he’s now going to look at us like we don’t have a clue what he likes?”

“Yeah, I think he’ll judge us forever based on a Christmas he won’t remember,” he says, moving his hand higher up her back and onto her neck, his fingers carding softly through her hair.

“My mum says we should expect him to care more about the wrapping paper this year than what’s inside it.” She remembers her mother telling her that her brother spent his first Christmas demanding to be placed inside the empty box of the toy they’d gone to some lengths to secure, and had warned her that she and Will should probably expect the same of Thomas.

“So as long as the wrapping paper is non-potato appropriate, we’re good.” There is teasing in his tone, and he tickles the base of her skull as he grins down at her. “Alright, what the hell else was on your list?”

“I have no real idea anymore.” She lays her head back down on his chest and pushes her fingers under his t-shirt. “Drink, cuddle, watch It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“One and two are covered.” He tightens an arm around her and reaches for the remote with his free hand. “Three is on the way.”

“I love this film,” she says quietly as it starts to play, even though she knows he’s aware of that.

"I know," he replies, softly. "And maybe this year there's a chance you won't completely fall apart before the end."

"I was eight months pregnant last Christmas, Billy." She shifts slightly to get a better view of the screen, still pressed against his warm chest. "I had a perfectly valid excuse."

She falls silent as the film starts, thinking about how many times she must have watched it over the years, and reminded too of the five years she couldn't bear to watch it. The year she was stabbed was almost the exception when she turned on the TV in her hospital room to find it there, taunting her, but she'd been unable to bear it and had switched it off almost immediately.

"God, a year ago I was enormously pregnant, and now we have a little boy who can walk, and giggle, and say a few words," she says, smiling again as she thinks of how much everything has changed in the last couple of years, the biggest and best change sleeping peacefully down the hall.

"I can't fucking believe he's walking," he says, a mixture of wonder and disbelief in his voice. "I thought we had a few months to get used to that idea but I guess I should have expected it, he is _your_ son."

"Yes he is. Smart, quick..." Looking up at him, she gives him her most beguiling smile combined with a flutter of her lashes. "Inquisitive, determined-"

"Stubborn..." He smiles back at her. "Wilful-"

"He couldn't possibly have inherited those traits from you, of course." She stops him, glances quickly at the TV and back again.

"I wasn't finished." He pushes a piece of hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear.

"Please do go on," she says, sighing at the soft feel of his hand in her hair again. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your stream of praise."

"Bright, sweet, beautiful..." His hand moves down her back again, his fingers tickling her lower back and sliding just inside the waistband of her pyjama pants. "And with a smile that I am powerless to resist. I mean, totally powerless, no point even trying. You smile, it's all over. He smiles, same deal."

"I've been teaching him all my best moves," she murmurs, her eyes back on the TV screen but her concentration being tested by his hand in her pants, running gently across her skin. "I'm glad it's working."

"Oh!" He moves suddenly, and she slides into the gap between him and the back of the couch, laughing as she wonders what it is he's just thought of. "Hang on, I...I have something for you."

He moves out from under her and gets to his feet, leaving her to pull herself slightly reluctantly into a sitting position, leaning back against the couch and watching him as he crosses the room, grabs a small box and turns back, a hint of a grin on his lips.

"Here, you can open it, it's not for Christmas," he says, handing her the box. "I mean, it is for Christmas, but you should have it now, I want you to have it now."

She lets him babble as she takes the box out of his hand, opening the lid to find what looks like a pile of tissue paper, under which she's going to assume is whatever he wants to give her. Pulling out the tissue and tossing it onto the coffee table, she sees a Christmas bauble and slides it carefully out of the box, holding it up in front of her. One side has 'Baby's First Christmas' written across, and when she turns it she sees a photo of Thomas, not one she's seen before, which considering she's the one who takes an inordinate number of photos of him, is surprising. He appears to be sitting in front of the Christmas tree, he's wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a smiling Santa on the front, and to really complete the overall effect, he has a pair of antlers on his head. Despite all that, or maybe because of it, he's grinning at the camera (or at his father behind it, more likely), and the whole thing combines to bring a huge lump to her throat.

"Billy..." She smiles at him and finds her hand grasping his as she looks again at the bauble. "Where did you...this photo, how have I never seen it before?"

"Because I took it, and I didn't show it to you because I wanted to get the bauble made and for it to be a surprise," he says, returning her smile. "I did email it to your parents though, on condition they didn't tell you about it."

"I love it," she says, taking a closer look and smiling again at the happiness on her son's face. "Look at him."

"Oh honey, I spent a lot of time looking at him that morning." He raises his eyebrows and squeezes her hand. "Do you really think I put antlers on him, sat him in front of the tree, told him to smile, and boom, done in one shot?"

"How long did it take?" She laughs as she pictures Will trying to wrangle Thomas, somehow persuading him to sit still for more than a few seconds, and she loves him even more for not only sticking with it, but for ending up with what really is a beautiful photo.

"Let's just say I started to fear he'd grow out of the damn outfit before I got the photo," he says, grinning at her.

"Well, let _me_ just say it was worth every anguished second," she says, leaning forward and kissing him, the hand that isn't carefully holding the bauble stroking across his face. "It's perfect, I love it, I love _you_."

*

It's early, she's always woken early, something which has meant having a baby with the same tendencies has been less of a shock to the system than it could have been...in that respect, at least. Her eyes adjust to the dark and she can make out the time, 6.14, and she smiles as she realises it's Christmas Day. She had woken slightly less cheerfully last year, having spent half the night trekking back and forth to the bathroom, and the other half trying in vain to get comfortable. This year she's waking after a solid night of sleep, there's silence so far from down the hall, and when she pushes back slightly against Will, his faint groan suggests he's heading for wakefulness too, so more than likely wouldn't be averse to wishing her a merry Christmas in the way she's hoping for.

She shifts back further to push herself more tightly against him, biting her lip when she feels his obvious hardness pressing into her rear. Moving her hand into her pyjama pants she starts to touch herself, parting her thighs slightly and starting to move her fingers, slowly at first, sliding through her wetness. He lets her know he's awake by pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, following it with a nibble on her earlobe, murmuring her name into her ear.

"Merry Christmas," he says, his voice soft and his breath warm on her skin. "Silence from down the hall?"

"So far," she answers, smiling as his hand moves to stroking her arm, her skin reacting instantly into goosebumps. "I'd estimate we have maybe half an hour before that little guy wakes up."

"Well then it's a good that this little guy..." He pushes himself against her, the evidence of how hard he is more than clear. "Is wide awake."

"Yes...yes, he is." She pauses and her breath catches when his hand slips into her pants and pushes hers aside, her fingers replaced by his. "And from where I'm sitting, not so little..."

"Seems like you got started without me," he says as his fingers move against her, and a fresh surge of wetness greets them.

"We have a limited window here, Billy, I figured I needed to forward plan," she says, moaning and pushing herself into his hand. "Do you think competition body builders wait until they're actually on the stage before they start to oil up?"

"I have literally never considered that question in my fucking life, Mackenzie." His fingers speed up and his thumb joins them, fast strokes that make her moan again. "But I think I get the metaphor."

She can't respond because what he's doing with his fingers makes her question whether she can even remember her name. She tilts her head back slightly and he takes the hint she hoped he would, scraping his teeth down her neck, harder when she gasps and moves her hand to cover his, squeezing his wrist, her grip tightening as his fingers speed up. With his teeth on her neck, his hardness pushing at her from behind, and his thumb making small, determined circles she comes with a low, ragged moan.

"Oh God." She sighs and feels herself trembling against his fingers, and before she realises what he's doing, the warm weight of his hand shifts, his fingers move lower and she's slightly surprised when she feels herself coming again just seconds later, even harder than the first time. "Holy...whoa."

She hears his low chuckle in response to her total inability to articulate what she's feeling. What she does manage is to free her hand to clumsily pull her pyjama pants down, whining in frustration when they become tangled around her feet and sighing in relief when he moves from behind her to pull them off, followed by his own. Quickly peeling off her tank top, she rolls onto her back and watches as he kicks their pyjama pants to the floor and turns his gaze back to her, a hungry glint in his eyes.

He doesn't do what she thought he was going to, even though she can see he's as hard as a rock and wants to be inside her as much as she wants him there. Instead, he lifts her leg and kisses slowly around her ankle bone, gently up her calf, behind her knee, and by the time his lips are on her thigh it's all she can do not to scream. His eyes lock onto hers, dark with arousal as he moves over her, dipping his head down to take her nipple into his mouth, and she bites back a moan as she feels how hard he is against her thigh. Her hands move to his shoulders, down his back, grasping at him, sliding back up, roaming his neck, into his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. He swirls his tongue around her nipple, and when she feels his hand slip slowly between their bodies she parts her legs on pure instinct, the anticipation of having him inside her sending a flutter through her abdomen and a fresh surge of wetness between her legs.

Giving her nipple one final, hard suck, he releases it with a soft pop and lifts his head, moving above her, keeping his eyes firmly on hers as he guides himself slowly inside her. She wants him against her, his skin pressed to hers, his weight pushing her down, anchoring her firmly beneath him, so she hooks her hands under his armpits and pulls him closer. He hesitates for just a beat until she squeezes her muscles around him which, if the sound he lets out is any indication, steals all coherent thought from his mind. He starts to move, pushing deeper into her, dropping his head to kiss her, his tongue hot and urgent against hers.

She doubts she's going to come again but she doesn't care, she's still flushed from the two orgasms in quick succession she's already had this morning, she'll be happy with just feeling him come inside her, her name on his lips as it so often is. Fleetingly, she thinks again about last Christmas when she was pregnant and they were both a little nervous, but so excited to meet the little person now sleeping down the hall. She thinks too about another baby, a brother or sister for Thomas, and how they agreed a couple of months ago that if they were lucky enough for lightning to strike twice (lightning that was never really meant to strike at all...) then they would be delighted, but if not then they have one precious gift already and he's more than enough.

His lips on her neck bring her back to the moment, and the faint tickle of his breath warms her skin as he pushes harder and faster into her. She moans and her nails scrape across the back of his neck, hard enough that she knows he feels it, knows it spurs him on, evident in his groan as he thrusts even deeper inside her. One hand slides into his hair again and her mouth moves to his neck, her tongue running across his skin to taste him as he groans at her touch. When he slows down and his breathing changes, she knows he's close, confirmed by the darkness in his eyes when he pulls her face from his neck so he can look at her.

"Honey..." He pauses, takes a breath, and goes on. Or tries to. "Are you..."

"Twice already and it's not even seven in the morning," she says, smiling when he pushes a sticky strand of hair off her forehead. "I think it's time for you to get yours."

"Okay, I..." Again, speech fails him, her eloquent talks-for-a-living husband felled by passion.

She tugs on his hair and he lets out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl. Whatever it is, she likes it, and she likes that it's immediately followed by her name, repeated as he slows right down and comes with a groan, his eyes falling shut. Shifting slightly but staying inside her, he presses his face into the crook of her neck and slides a hand down to her breast. His finger and thumb start to softly roll her nipple, and she feels it tighten again and harden to an almost painful peak as the tip of his thumb strokes across it. When he slides his thumb into his mouth before pushing it back against her nipple, she feels a tingle of arousal that shoots down through her core and settles between her legs. She feels him pull slowly out of her, but instead of rolling to the side, he switches his thumb for his mouth and moves his hand down between them, the combination of both touches eliciting a moan she doesn't even recognise as her own. She can't figure out what does it or of it's the perfect mix of his hand and his tongue, but when he scrapes his teeth across her nipple she finds herself coming again, a gentle ripple that leaves her breathless and sweating under him.

They seem to stay tangled and spent for what feels like hours, and but for the lack of feeling in her legs, she'd stay there until they absolutely had no choice but to move, most likely when Thomas wakes up. He shifts off her and props himself up on his elbow, watching her as she turns and grins at him.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," she says, reaching forward, her thumb gently tracing his bottom lip. "Because hell, three times before it's even light, you really should be."

"Well, it _is_ Christmas," he says, leaning in to kiss her, pausing just as his lips touch hers, the sound of Thomas's familiar morning chorus cutting through the quiet. "And here we go, little McAvoy's first one."

"I'm going to pee..." She sits up, reaches for the tissues on her nightstand, handing them to him with a smile before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You go fetch our boy so we can do Christmas."

*

She finishes in the bathroom, puts her pyjamas back on and heads for the living room by way of the kitchen where she flicks the coffee machine on and pulls two mugs onto the counter before picking up the camera and making her way down the hallway. Before she quite reaches the living room, she hears Will's voice, and she smiles when she sees him standing in front of the tree, pointing something out to Thomas, who is happily settled in his arms.

"Do you like the Christmas tree, buddy?" he asks their son, and even from the doorway she can hear the smile lacing his question. "What do we have on here, huh? Do you see the snowflakes, Tom Tom?"

She watches as Thomas points to the tree, possibly in the vague direction of the snowflake decoration his father just indicated.

"Dar?" She hears the little voice she can't get enough of ever since he started talking and she smiles as she lifts the camera, taking a photo of the two of them, her boys at Christmas.

"That _is_ a star, you're such a clever boy," he says, ruffling the baby's hair before softly kissing his head.

She takes another photo, unable to resist capturing the sight, her heart fit to burst as it always does when she watches the two of them together, Will's love for Thomas so obvious, and Thomas's total adoration of his daddy written all over his face whenever he looks at him.

“I thought I heard the telltale click of a camera,” he says as he turns to her, smiling as she walks into the room and puts the camera down on the coffee table.

“I have two incredibly handsome McAvoy boys, I couldn't help myself.” She kisses Thomas who instantly grins and reaches for her, and she smiles as she takes him from Will. “Good morning, sweetie. Has Daddy been showing you what’s under the tree too?”

“Not yet.” Will shakes his head. “I figured maybe we should get some breakfast into the kid before we start blowing his tiny mind with wrapping paper and presents. Also, I could use a coffee.”

“You’re smart, and so am I for turning the coffee on before I came in here,” she says, smiling at him and pausing to kiss the baby’s cheek, trying but failing to dodge his hand as he grabs her hair.

“Alright, little guy, breakfast time for you,” he says, tickling the back of Thomas’s head and smiling at her before moving towards the door.

“Billy…” She waits for him to turn back, eyebrows raised, and she takes a step to stand in front of him so she can lean up and place a soft kiss onto his lips. “Merry Christmas.”


	6. 2017: Twelve Drummers Drumming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The boys are never dressed in matching clothes, it's something Mackenzie has always been pretty firm about, but when she spotted the Christmas sweaters their sons are currently wearing, the beaming smile on her face said it all. He admits it, they're cute; stripes, a huge Rudolph on the front, finished off with brightly coloured "I'm on Santa's good list" lettering._

The boys are never dressed in matching clothes, it's something Mackenzie has always been pretty firm about, but when she spotted the Christmas sweaters their sons are currently wearing, the beaming smile on her face said it all. He admits it, they're cute; stripes, a huge Rudolph on the front, finished off with brightly coloured "I'm on Santa's good list" lettering. She tosses him Henry's coat and bends down to help Thomas into his, and he glances at the time, amazed as ever at how when he's alone with the boys he can't get them dressed and out in less than what feels like hours, but when Mackenzie's in charge she manages it with almost military precision.

Henry doesn't argue when he zips up his coat and then puts his hat on, he thinks it's probably because the big brother he follows around like a faithful little shadow is doing the same just a few feet away without protest. He wonders if he can count on that still working when they're teenagers...doubtful, he knows, but hell, he can hope.

"You ready to see Santa, buddy?" He smiles at Henry who nods and grins at him. "Are we going to tell him you and Thomas have been good and that he should bring you some presents next week?"

"Yep." Henry's grin grows wider as he points over at his brother. "Good boys!"

"Do you remember what you wanted to ask him for?" The presents are wrapped and stashed at Leona's place, just as they were last year, and he can only imagine how many she might add to the pile this time.

"A fire truck, and hot dogs..." It's still funny to him, as he waits for his youngest son to continue, that hot dogs are on his wish list even though he eats them frequently enough that he really doesn't need to rely on Santa to deliver them. "And a puppy."

He looks over at Mackenzie who raises her eyebrows at yet another request they won't be fulfilling, along with Thomas's addition of a baby sister to _his_ list a few weeks ago, which he thankfully hasn't mentioned since. Perhaps his brother's puppy announcement will distract him, although God knows their apartment is chaotic enough without adding a puppy into the mix.

"What about you, Tom Tom?" Mackenzie asks, as she hands him his mittens and smiles as he puts them on. "What are you asking Santa for?"

"A blue train, a piano, and a space rocket!" Thomas's answer is instant, and the baby sister on his list seems to have been replaced by a space rocket, which is definitely easier to come up with in just over a week's time.

"Well, I'm sure Santa can manage to bring some of the things on both of your lists," Mackenzie runs her finger softly down Thomas's nose before she looks over and smiles at Henry. "As long as you're both very good between now and Christmas Eve. Can you be really good for Mummy and Daddy, do you think?"

He watches as Thomas rests his mitten covered hands on the sides on Mackenzie's face and nods, his expression so serious it's funny, reminding him again of just how fucking awesome a bribery tool Santa is. Henry seems less set on convincing his mother that he can be good for a week, instead attempting to put his mittens on the wrong hand, frowning faintly until he figures out his mistake and switches them over.

"You know this could go horribly badly again, right?" Mackenzie murmurs into his ear as she passes him to move towards the door. "Last year Henry cried until you took him outside, and Thomas refused to talk to Santa at all."

"Right, but this year Thomas talks a mile a minute and hell, if Henry freaks out then I'll just take him outside again, it's no big deal," he says, smiling at her as he remembers how quickly things descended into chaos last year. "We can't _not_ take them to see Santa, Mac."

"I know." She grins up at him and kisses his cheek. "And if they bail, you can always give Santa your list."

"What's on your list, Daddy?" Thomas tugs on his hand as he asks the question, looking up at him curiously.

"I didn't actually make a list, buddy." He reaches down and gently pats the top of Thomas's head, his fingers resting briefly on the knit of his hat.

"Oh..." Thomas pauses, biting his lip as he thinks. "You don't want presents?"

"I have you, and Henry, and Mommy," he says, smiling down at his eldest son. "I don't need anything else."

Thomas looks confused by the idea that someone would approach Christmas without a list but then he's distracted by Henry and seems to decide against pursuing it any further, opting instead to take the toy train his younger brother is offering, spinning the wheels and dropping to his knees to run it across the floor.

"No list, Billy?" Mackenzie moves back to his side, sidestepping the train being sent towards her feet and leaning towards him, a faint smirk blooming on her lips as she squeezes his hand. "Well, I'm sure I can think of a suitable gift for you once these two munchkins are asleep tonight."

"I like the sound of that," he says, his voice low as he returns the squeeze of her fingers in his.

"I thought you might." She pulls her hand slowly from his and smiles at him. "Alright, we should get moving."

They stand behind a handful of other people waiting to see Santa, and he's proud of himself for not suggesting this year that they arrange something ahead of time, something that doesn't involve waiting. Mackenzie was adamant last year, insisting that she wants the boys to know that sometimes getting what you want involves waiting in line, that not everything can be had by Daddy playing the privilege card. Of course he'd argued that there was no point in having a privilege card if you didn't use it, but there was no changing her mind, and as much as he offers a token grumble, he loves her even more for it. She knows as well as he does that their kids are lucky, they're going to grow up with the best life has to offer available to them, but she's right, it is important that they know that isn't the case for everyone. God though, if he could hurl money at an elf for them to cut this line, he really would.

The two little girls ahead of them charge at Santa with such enthusiasm that he swears he sees fear on the poor guy's face, and it's at that point he turns and sees a similar look in Henry's eyes as he clings desperately to Mackenzie. He has a horrible feeling he knows what's coming, the frown creasing his son's little forehead clueing him in to a possible repeat of last year. Henry's code was an easy one to crack, uncertainty written all over his face when he's faced with a situation he doesn't like, no doubt to be followed any second now with a shake of his head and a "dono." It's a scrambled abbreviation of "don't know", and it's Henry's default whenever he's unsure or anxious.

"Dono, Mommy," he says quietly, tucking his face into the side of Mackenzie's neck and curling his hands under the collar of her coat. "Dono."

"You're not sure, sweetie?" Mackenzie glances up at him as she runs her hand gently through Henry's hair. "You don't have to see Santa if you don't want to, but look at the little girls talking to him now. They're telling him what they want him to bring for Christmas, and I think he's going to give them gifts today too. Do you want to tell Santa what you'd like, and that you've been a good boy?"

Henry says nothing, burying his head further into Mackenzie's neck as she frowns and bites her lip, looking over at him expectantly. Reaching down, he scoops Thomas up and hopes he can use his eldest son to persuade his youngest that Santa isn't the source of pure terror Henry seems to think he might be.

"Henry's not too sure about seeing Santa, Tom Tom," he says, ruffling his hair, watching as his son grins. "How about you tell him it's okay? That the two of you can go together and tell Santa how good you've been."

"Don't be 'fraid, Henry." Thomas leans in and taps his brother on the shoulder, not waiting for him to look at him before he carries on. "Santa's going to give us toys now! And then on Christmas, he's going to give us more toys!"

"Fire truck?" Henry lifts his head to look at Thomas, and in his eyes there's curiosity battling with trepidation as he looks at Santa and back again.

"I don't know," Thomas says with a frown, glancing at Mackenzie.

"Oh, I'm sure he's going to bring a fire truck on Christmas Day," she says with a smile. "And today he'll give you something else to open too, a surprise."

"I go with you, Henry, okay?" Thomas gives his brother a sweet, encouraging smile and he watches as Henry lifts his head slowly and seems to think about it. "And Mommy will take a picture. Right, Mommy?"

He can't help snorting faintly at the fact that Thomas is a month away from turning four and already he knows he and his brother can barely do a thing without Mackenzie needing to document it. On this occasion though it's fair enough and it may be the thing that swings Henry's decision in Santa's favour, considering the kid does love the camera.

"Henny down, Mommy." He wriggles and seems to have made his decision, a relieved sigh coming from Mackenzie as she puts him down and he does the same with Thomas.

She pulls her camera from her bag just as Santa beckons to them to come forward for their turn, but he sees her hesitate as Henry takes just one step forward before coming to an abrupt halt. He's wondering whether he should step in to avoid a repeat of last year's freak out, but just as he's about to move, Thomas reaches for Henry, taking hold of his hand and smiling at him. Glancing at Mackenzie he sees the look on her face, a look he knows means if she blinks or releases her bottom lip from where it's currently gripped between her teeth she may just cry. He also knows her well enough to know there's not a chance on earth she'll let herself cry in the middle of Macy's Santaland, so instead she concentrates on taking a photo as their boys approach Santa hand-in- hand, matching sweaters and all.

*

"A drum," he says, voice raises slightly so she can hear him from the bathroom. "I mean, seriously, do they give away the noisiest toys deliberately?"

"Honey, in case you've forgotten, we've got Thomas a kiddie piano for Christmas." Mackenzie peeks her head around the door and grins at him. "We were already looking at a world of noise on Christmas Day, we may as well have Henry joining in too."

"I guess." He grumbles but his heart isn't in it and she knows it. If there's any noise he can stand it's the noise from the kids, it's worth it.

"And anyway, you should be thankful that your resourceful wife sneaked the damn drum out from under his bed and brought it in here," she says, still grinning. "At least we won't be dealing with that waking us at God knows what time in the morning."

"I'm always thankful for my resourceful wife, you know that." He takes another mouthful from the glass on the nightstand, wincing slightly. "Jesus, how much alcohol is in this?"

"Well, the eggnog was a gift from Leona..." She pauses and he hears the light in the bathroom click off and her voice comes closer. "And if she didn't make it from scratch then she sure as hell made some adjustments."

"Can't say that'd surprise me, I-" He stops as he sees her walking towards him, wearing nothing but tiny red panties and a Santa hat. "Whoa, honey! Merry Christmas to me."

"And me too, I hope." She smirks and stops at the end of the bed, slowly pulling the hat off and letting her hair tumble down over her shoulders.

"Oh yeah, definitely," he says, his gaze running slowly over her mostly naked body, more beautiful now than ever, as she climbs onto the bed beside him. "Now, tell me what's on your Christmas list and I'll see what I can do..."

*

“Daddy...wake up. Daddy!” He’s aware suddenly of a small weight on his chest, a small weight issuing an impatient sigh.

Mackenzie shifts beside him, unsurprisingly waking first, and when he opens his eyes he’s greeted first by the bright light of the lamp he guesses she just turned on, and then by both of their boys, Thomas half on his chest, half squeezed in the small gap between him and Mackenzie, while Henry has decided to make his mother the target and is pressed firmly against her legs.

“Boys, it’s very early, you both should be sleeping,” Mackenzie’s voice is hoarse with sleep, and he turns to see her push her hair out of her face as she clears her throat and manages a faint smile in his direction, a smile that says she knows as well as he does that there isn’t a chance in hell their sons will sleep for a single second more this morning.

“But Santa, Mommy. Santa came and left toys for us!” Thomas’s excitement is very clear, his eyes wide as he stares at his parents in turn.

“Toys?” Henry’s attention is piqued and it’s in that instant he knows it’s over, Christmas begins… at two minutes past six. “Henny got toys?”

“I guess we need to go and look, don’t we?” Mackenzie smiles at their youngest, who grins and clambers higher up the bed to rest his hand briefly on her cheek before deciding he needs to investigate the possibility of toys.

"And hot dogs!" Henry's excitement about the oddest thing on his Christmas list is still funny to him, and Mackenzie's snort tells him it's funny to her too.

"I don't think we should have hot dogs for breakfast, Henry," she says, reaching out to stop him hurtling off the side of the bed, holding onto him until she can sit up and lift him down onto the floor. "Maybe we should think about toast or cereal first. What do you think?"

"I think presents, Mommy," Thomas says without any hesitation as he slides down from the bed and starts to jump up and down as Henry stands giggling next to him.

"Pingins, Mommy!" Henry's eyes drift to Mackenzie's pyjamas and he covers his mouth with both hands as he giggles, obviously amused that his mother has glittery penguins on her pants.

"This is going to be a really long day, isn't it?" He sits up and rests a hand on her back, a quick glance at the clock causing a groan he can't contain.

"The longest." She turns to him and grins, squeezing his thigh before she gets out of bed to follow the boys as they start to run from the room in the direction of where they think the presents are. "Coffee, Billy. We're going to need a lot of coffee."

*

There is wrapping paper strewn across the floor, there are books and toys as far as the eye can see, the room is a disaster zone, and the boys both have wide grins on their faces. It's just gone noon, but they're all still in their pyjamas, all wearing the slightly ridiculously Christmas themed sleepwear that Mackenzie bought a week ago, him included. He figures that at some point Mackenzie will decide they all need to get dressed (he knows the boys have Christmas Day outfits she wants to see them in), and that she'll also insist they get some air, but for now there's no hurry, they can relax and watch their sons enjoying their presents.

"I'm going to grab the laptop," Mackenzie says, squeezing his knee before she stands up. "I should check my emails at least."

"It's Christmas Day, Mac, we have a few days off for the first time in God knows how long," he says, grasping her hand and pulling her back. "If world war three breaks out, I'm pretty sure someone will call, I-"

"I'm kidding, you nut. I want to Skype my Mum so she can say hello to the boys." She grins and he can't believe he thought she was serious.

While the laptop boots up, Mackenzie sends a text to her mother to check she's around, and he grins when she shows him the message that comes back almost instantly saying yes, they've been looking forward to speaking all day.

"Hello, darlings! Merry Christmas!" Penny's excited voice booms out from the screen, and he watches as Thomas scrambles to his feet, his favourite new toy in his hand, and climbs into Mackenzie's lap.

"Hi Grandma, I got a train! A blue train!" Thomas grins at his grandmother's face on the screen and holds up his toy to show her.

"Gosh, a blue train? Well, aren't you a lucky boy?" Penny smiles at her grandson, and Robert appears beside her with an equally wide smile on his face.

"Hello, young man, did Santa bring you lots of lovely things?" Robert asks, waiting as Thomas pauses to think.

"I got a train, and a rocket, and books, and a piano, Grandpa!" Thomas shifts slightly closer to the screen and Mackenzie runs her hand softly over his head. "And Henry got a fire truck!"

At the sound of his name, Henry drops the toy puppy he had in his hand and picks up the fire truck, running over to the couch and trying to also fit himself onto Mackenzie's lap before spotting that his father's lap could be a better option and letting himself be hoisted up in front of the screen. Waving at his grandparents, Henry grins and, just like Thomas did, holds up the toy for them to see.

"Look, Gama!" Henry says, making them all laugh when he suddenly hugs his fire truck to his chest like it's his newest friend, before climbing down from the couch and running back to the rest of his toys.

"I have to go play too, Grandma." Thomas blows a kiss at the screen and Penny's face lights up as it always does.

"Alright, sweetheart," Penny says with a smile. "You have fun and we'll see you very soon."

"Are you coming for dinner?" Thomas pauses in his climb down from the couch and turns back to the screen. "Mommy's making a big dinner and we're having chocolate cake, and Daddy has to stay out of Mommy's kitchen."

"Is that so?" Penny smirks in his direction and he shrugs in reply, recalling Mackenzie's very explicit order that not only should he stay out of the kitchen, he should keep the boys amused too. "Sadly, we won't be there for dinner, but soon, I promise."

"Okay," Thomas says, blowing another kiss in Penny's direction before finally moving to join Henry and the mountain of toys on the rug.

"It certainly seems that Santa was kind to the boys," Penny says as Robert moves closer to her and smiles at them. "Were they awake terribly early?"

"Six," Mackenzie says with a sigh. "But don't worry, I have sleeping pills crushed up and all ready to go into their lunch."

"You were always the most organised of my kids," Penny says, a smirk creeping onto her face. "I'm so proud."

"Lunch!" Henry clearly heard one of his favourite words and is now standing back in front of them, his fire truck still in his hand and an expectant expression on his little face.

"Ah, there he is, my hungriest grandson. We should leave you to it then, Mackie." Penny says, a smirk creeping onto her face. "We're just about to watch your favourite film, actually. I'm guessing you've had your annual viewing?"

"We have indeed." Mackenzie smiles and squeezes his hand, grinning when Henry takes a step closer and rests his head on her lap, and watches as his son looks up at her with his big blue eyes. "Mum, we really do need to go before someone here starts chewing on the furniture. Enjoy the rest of your day, and we'll call tomorrow when everyone's there, okay?"

"What time is Harry arriving with you tomorrow?" Penny asks, and Thomas's eyes light up at the thought of his favourite aunt showing up, and not just because he probably realises she'll bring more presents.

"I'm not sure, actually, around noon, I think," Mackenzie says. "We won't call until she gets here."

"Fabulous." Penny grins as Henry turns back to the screen and blows her another kiss. "Love you all."

Shutting down the laptop, Mackenzie leans briefly against his shoulder before scooping Henry up into her lap, kissing his cheek as she stands up.

"Come on, sweetpea, let's get you some lunch," she says, glancing over at Thomas, who stands up, obviously pleased by the idea of eating too.

"You too, Billy," she says as she leans up to kiss him. "I might even spare you the sleeping pills."

"Dammit, I was counting on those." He smiles at her and runs a thumb across her cheekbone. "I guess I'll just have to count on more coffee."

"Good plan, honey. When these two do eventually crash out, I'd like you wide awake and ready to wish me a _very_ merry Christmas." Smirking, she steps ahead of him, Henry still in her arms, and Thomas following close behind.

He feels an overwhelming wave of gratitude wash over him and his initial instinct is to fight it, but then he figures if he can't be sentimental at Christmas then hell, there's something wrong with the world, so he embraces it. He watches as everything that matters to him walks down the hallway; the woman he knew he wanted to marry from they day they met, the little boy they never thought they could have, and the toddler who proved that sometimes miracles do happen more than once. They may have been awake since six, they have a living room resembling the aftermath of an explosion in a toy factory, and he expects either one or both of the boys to have a meltdown at some point before Christmas Day is done, but holy shit, he never imagined he could be this happy.

Watching as Mackenzie walks into the kitchen and puts Henry gently down on the floor, he steps up quietly behind her and slides his arms around her waist. She doesn't say anything, she simply leans back against him, covers his hand with hers, and sighs softly. She's always loved Christmas, he saw it from the first year they were together, and he's always found it completely endearing. She told him last night, laying in bed with a huge smile on her face, that she loves it even more now she can see it through the eyes of their sons. He had felt his heart almost bursting with love for her and their boys, just as it does every day, and he had kissed her, softly and slowly, before telling her with a smile to rival hers that he feels exactly the same way.


End file.
